Ju:On - The Creed (Awakening)
by Sing-Sorrow
Summary: Kadar Al-Sayf is called back to his home guild to care for his sickly brother Malik, who has been acting strangely since he was asked to investigate the incident that occurred in the Jerusalem bureau...
1. Chapter 1

Title: Ju:On - The Creed (Awakening)  
Author: deepercut Sing_Sorrow on deeper-cut on deviantART  
Pairings: KadarXMalik, AltairXMalik, AltairXAbbas, Crossovers (Intimate pairings only mentioned)  
Ratings: M16+ - for violence and supernatural.  
Warnings: Graphic Violence, Death, Incest  
Genre: Actions, Angst, Deathfic, Drama, Horror, Thriller  
POV: Third Person

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

*** means different place/people  
- means different place/time

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 1:

"But I do not want to be a rafiq!"

"But it is safe for you Kadar! You will be safe from any harm-"

"What if safety is not one of my concerns, brother?!"

"Do not say such things! You shall be a wonderful rafiq, safe in the bureau and content with your studies. It will bring great honor to ou-"

"Malik, I care not about family honor!"

"Please Kadar! Kadar! Kadar – Come back here!"

The conversation replayed over and over in Kadar Al-Sayf's head. It had been a memory he would normally seek to tune out with distractions of any kind. But recently, Kadar's head had been buzzing with the last memories of seeing his brother.

The ship rocked gently on the seas, bobbing on the clear blue waters like an ornamental display. Kadar rested his arms on the strong rail, the warmth of the wood travelling up his arms. His light cotton sleeves were not enough to keep the sea cold from creeping against his skin, and with the sun setting, Kadar turned his attention from the waters below to scan the horizon for any signs of land. He had been on board the ship for a little over three weeks now and they had made good time. The ship had taken only two weeks to get from the southern-most tip of Japan to the ports in Malaysia, where they had docked for two days to rest and restock supplies. The weather had not been very different from Japan but as they grew closer to home, Kadar could sense a change in the winds; colder nights, warmer days. The sun seemed to glow in anticipation of Kadar's return home.

He saw no land on the horizon and put his head down against the rail. The rocking motion of the ship calmed his racing heart and he bit his arm to keep from screaming. His messy, ebony hair flopped about his face and he stretched his back like a cat.

"Kadar, do not do this. We are brothers! Does that mean anything to you anymore?"

"Malik, you have to let me go. I am no longer your burden! I can fend for myself."

The docks became a place Kadar had long avoided. He hated being on ships of any kind and the lack of land made him sick. He pulled away from the rail and went to seek shelter away from the sickly smell of salt and the chilly air. Safe in his private corner, Kadar curled with his blanket and pillows against the floor. Much to his relief, lifestyles in Asia were much the same in Syria. He unfastened the traditional Japanese robe he wore at the neck and leaned back against the wall, his bright eyes closed. As much as Kadar had fled from home, he missed it. Often he thought of his older brother Malik, wondered what happened to him? Where he was? What was he doing? Did he follow his own dreams of becoming an assassin or did he keep to his studies as well, going to his geography and history classes as he did grudgingly every morning. Malik, like Kadar sought for adventure. But unlike Kadar, he had a trained patience to do what must be done to better oneself – in this case, for both himself and Kadar.

Ever since they were little, Malik played the role of big brother and daddy to the extremes. He kept care of Kadar, making sure he was well-provided for and protected. And in return, Kadar had taken the first opportunity granted to put as much distance between himself and Malik as possible. It had been four years and the guilt he felt was unbearable. So naturally he felt as if he was at fault when he heard the news that Malik was ill.

To make matters worse, Kadar was not informed of how sick. A letter had been delivered to Kadar when he returned from one of his many missions. In Japan he grew in skill and strength, becoming renowned for his agility and ability to free prisoners and concubines alike. Upon his arrivals home to the guild, he was awaited with a hearty meal and a good rest, with several of his new-found friends. But this time, there had been no cheer. He had walked in to have the smile wiped from his face. Only his mentor stood before him, a grand man that was slim and strong. He held out a parchment, faded and crinkled. The seal was broken.

"I am sorry." He spoke, before leaving Kadar alone.

The letter itself was written in Arabic and Kadar knew at once it was urgent news. And private. None in this land could read it – save maybe a trained scholar or so. All the note said was that Malik was injured and fell ill. His presence was required to either care for Malik until his recovery or prepare the arrangements. Kadar could bring himself to neither options.

Silently the next morning, his good friend Li Jun and himself packed a small amount of belongings and bade farewell to the guild that he had come to know and respect as his home. They travelled together as far south as the ports, where Kadar embraced him in Eastern custom and kissed both his cheeks.

"Perhaps we will see each other soon?" Li spoke very broken in Arabic.

Kadar smiled and replied. "Hopefully sooner than later." In the native tongue of his friend.

His journey was alone from there on. And he had only his memories to feud with on the open seas. As far as the crew was concerned, Kadar was little more than the cargo they carried and most made no effort to even notice he was there. Exhausted from his mental battles and tired of the slow, dull sea life, Kadar fell asleep just as the ship pasted Pakistan.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 2:

A rough jerking awoke the young assassin. One of the sailors was shaking his shoulder to waken him. He groggily opened his eyes and looked up.

"Time to go, we made port." The sailor whispered.

"What time is it?" Kadar asked, standing and picking up his possessions.

"You slept maybe fifteen hours straight. You had bad dreams so we fed you some of the captain's medicines. It helped. You slept."

"Oh. Well, thank you."

Kadar made his way to the deck of the ship, taking the stairs two at a time. It wasn't because he was anxious to see home, just to be away from the sailors; especially when he was stuck alone with one. The sun was blazing in the sky when he got on deck and he pulled his grey hood up, wearing the traditional robes of his land. The black Japanese clothing was underneath, visible against his knees. He walked to the rail and took in the scenery; the tall towers with their dark shades and the wooden stands and benches scattered about the ports. His eyes shimmered in the sunlight as he took in the busy, crowded streets and heard the loud, familiar calls of his native tongue. Guards strutted by, their armor glinting, and all about, everywhere, people were walking by, passing, shopping, as if he had never even left.

It was not Syria. Not yet home. But it was close enough to make Kadar feel a fresh wave of guilt. His footsteps were light as he walked off the ship to the land. It had been too long for Kadar to feel the ground not roll under his feet and he stumbled slightly, feeling drunken. A few sailors nearby scoffed at him but he ventured passed them and hurried to find a stable. The sooner he crossed the Syria/Iran border, the sooner he could see Malik. And the sooner he returned home to his brother, the sooner he would finally, after four years, feel complete.

The ride was a long one, tedious in its entirety. At one more than one point Kadar thought of quitting. The thoughts of Malik, ill, alone and possibly broken, flashed in his mind. And the thought of if he had already passed by the time Kadar got there forced him to ignore the ache in his thighs and the pain in his back and ride onwards, faster than he was just before. It took some effort and he spent several days road-worn but by the fifth sunset, Kadar could begin to see the towers of Masyaf. Exhaling in relief, Kadar felt a new wave of panic flood his chest and he spurred the horse forwards. Both he and his stallion were tired by the time he had pressed them midway through Kingdom and it took him a carrot of bribery to get his steed the rest of the way. He walked them through the more populated areas, giving them both a rest and sneaking past the Templar guards. The thought of Templars hurting Malik made Kadar's stomach knot.

Before long, Kadar found himself looking upon the gates of Masyaf. He led his horse to the stable, who needed no further ushering once the trough of food came into view. He could no longer stop himself from using his own legs to race towards the Assassin guild, perched at the top of the hill. He ran, whipped around the corner, under the gateway, only to rush straight into a rafiq of similar status and size to himself. It took a moment for Kadar to look up from under his hood and meet the eyes of this rafiq.

"I am terribly sorry!" Kadar squealed out, huffing from his sudden stop.

"It is no-oh dear Lord! Kadar Al-Sayf?!"

The voice sounded familiar and it took a moment for Kadar to realized that he was looking upon the face of his fellow student – now graduated.

"H-Hamal?"

"Yes! Yes, dear boy! You remember me!" Suddenly his expression turned dark and he lowered both his head and voice. "Kadar, what are you doing home?"

Kadar seemed confused and pulled the note from his belt. "I was informed that I was to see Malik, he fell ill."

"Might I come with you? I had just been told, for the thousandth time, I'm not allowed to see how Master Malik is doing."

"Master?"

Kadar wondered if the title was of traditional admiration or if Malik had really reached the rank he dreamt so long to have. He simply sidestepped Hamal, his urge to see Malik intensified with the news. "Please, I must see my brother."

Kadar didn't bother to see if Hamal was watching, following or simply left him to his rush. He raced towards the library, past the training ring and up the steps of the guild. He found his mentor, Al Mualim, just stepping out towards the fields.

"Mentor!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees.

"Oh! Oh Al-Sayf! You gave me quite the shock. Get up boy." He nudged Kadar with the toe of his sandal and Kadar obediently rose.

"Mentor, you addressed me to return home to ca-"

"Care for your brother Malik. Yes, yes indeed I did. Perhaps he will speak sense to you."

"S-sense, mentor?"

"Indeed. If you are looking for him, he is at the topmost tower room, the one to the far west."

"Indeed. I shall go to him."

Kadar hurried to find him, bowing in traditional Japanese fashion and rushing along. He dodged the few novices and scholars taking books from the library and took the steps two at a time to reach the citadels above. He noticed immediately the room Malik was in by the guards stationed at the door. They spoke not to him as he entered and he forced himself to be calm. He eased the door open and the room was dark. Allowing his eyes to adjust, Kadar entered to find Malik sitting on his bed, his feet dangling from the height of being on an actual structure.

"Malik?" Kadar dragged on the name hesitantly.

Golden eyes flashed in the darkness to seek the source. Malik stood up, staggering forwards and grabbed both Kadar's wrists in his hands at once. "Kadar!"

Without releasing him, Malik pulled Kadar close into a deep hug, breathing in his distinct scent and pressing his cold nose against his warm neck. "Oh, Kadar! You're really here!"

"Yes." Kadar answered shocked, trying to get Malik to calm down. His own voice came out barely above a whisper and he swallowed in an attempt to gain some volume. "Yes, Malik I am here. Come on, calm down. Let's sit, tell me what happened? They said you're sick."

Kadar led him to sit upon the bed once more but as soon as he spoke of the guild Malik grabbed his wrists again.

"Kadar! You got to get me out of here! He's not resting! We got to leave!"

"Malik, what are you talking about? What happened here? Whose he?"

Malik watched Kadar with calculating eyes, responding when he spoke of a person. Malik jumped up and shook Kadar, his voice rising in hysterics. "Kadar – listen to me! You have to get me out of here, I'm the only one who can stop him! We have to get out! Kadar!"

"Malik - You're scaring me."

But just as Malik's screams started, the guards outside came through the door and roughly pushed Kadar back. To Kadar's confused horror, the guards pulled heavy straps of leather from the bed frame's posts and secured his brother down with them. Malik was sweating and straining to pull from the bonds, struggling to find Kadar's crystal eyes as he pleaded with him. The guards simply pulled Kadar from the room.

Hamal was waiting outside, leaning against the wall when Kadar exited. A fresh wave of guilt swept over him and he closed his eyes, not afraid to let the tears fall. Most people say assassin's shouldn't cry, because they are warriors, and because they are not allowed to let personal emotion infiltrate their work. But this was a matter of family, and Kadar was always a little different from the assassins. He was never afraid to show his emotion, never afraid to cry. Malik used to tell him when they were younger that his crying was a strength and that while others fought to suppress their urges, he simply had the strength to let them be.

Pressing a small wad of cloth to his lips, Kadar caught the tears that fell and began to make the descent down the stairs of the guild, all the while pondering how he was to help Malik if the guards would constantly just remove him from the room. What had Malik meant by 'he's not resting'? Who was he? Why was Malik a master? And why hadn't he heard of the other master assassin, Altair Ibn la Ahad since he returned? His thoughts rolled between seeing his former mentor and idol and how he was to help his brother when Hamal's stride matched his.

"You too, eh?" He asked.

"I understand not what you mean." Kadar responded coolly.

"You got removed too." He clarified.

"Is that not obvious, novice?"

"You sound like him. Look like him too." Hamal let his eyes roam up and down Kadar. "You know, I just want to talk to him, I need to ask him some questions."

"Questions?" Kadar let the flirtation slide, knowing his temper would not help his mission.

"Yes. You see, he became a rafiq. But things...something happened in that bureau. I just want to kno-"

"Look, Hamal. If this is about me becoming a rafiq, it is not going to happen. If Malik became one, that is his decision."

"Hear me out Kadar-"

"What is there to hear, Hamal?"

The pair had reached the bottom of the guild and had wondered past the empty training ring. Making their way under the gate where they had first met, Kadar stopped walking. The wind blew slightly, pulling Kadar's robes about him. He crossed his arms across his chest and prepared himself for what Hamal had to say.

"Kadar, you need to get me out of here."

Malik whispered in the empty darkness. The guards had left a candle on the bedside table but the meager flame did little against the blackness. Malik struggled to free his right arm, pulling at the tight restraint. If only he could-

A flash of white and Malik pulled back. He swore he saw a hand, thin and pale, sweep out of the darkness and grab his bound hand. He felt the nails scratch his skin lightly, those perfectly rounded nails. Malik felt a fresh wave of panic overtake him. He was here.

The candle began flickering, the flame dancing and trembling. All around him Malik could only hear the growing sound of someone attempting to speak, their voice sounded more like a struggled, choke-off gurgle; as if something had been lodged in their throat, cutting off their air. The sound grew louder, especially Malik realized in panic, behind him. He pulled against the restraint only to find it released. Wasting no time, Malik pulled the rest of the restraints off him, leaping off the bed and stumbling towards the door. He pounded it with his fists, turning back to face the bed. A figure, pale with bluish skin was staggering forwards. It was draped in a white assassin robe with a sash of red bound about its waist, trailing along the floor. The figure wore a prayer robe over his orders', one with black markings around the arms. It was barefoot and hooded, with long black hair hanging out of its hood and covering its face. It extended its hand towards Malik, groaning as it made its way from behind the bed towards him.

Malik pressed himself against the door and heard keys jingling. The door was opened and Malik turned, pushing the guard over as he rushed out. Malik turned to take the stairs towards the ground floor, only to find the figure clad in white crawling up them. The arms were bent awkwardly, jutting out at unnatural angles, and the neck was cracking as it moved itself up the stairs. The groaning sound was becoming deafening.

Without thinking, the dai raced down the hallway. He exited the safety of the guild's central building and ran along the citadel wall towards the turret. Malik grabbed the ladder's ridges, pulling himself up despite the ache in his arms. Reaching the top, he turned and walked backwards, facing the entrance and awaiting to see the creature make its way up. He tried to calm his racing heart, tried to stop his cease his ragged breathing. There was stillness. He backed his way across the roof of the guild entrance, stepping further from the steps that led upwards.

Looking from the left to the right, Malik saw nothing. He paused and attempted to control his breathing, control his thoughts. He had gotten away again - for now. He rubbed his face with his hand, trying to blot out the sweat gathering under his hair. Two pale hands extended across his vision though, pale white hands. They wrapped around from behind him and the fingers danced across his face. One finger on the left hand was missing, allowing Malik to see from where the ring finder should have been. Before Malik could utter a single sound, he felt his weight being pulled backwards and the ground being swept out from under him, just as the wind blew.

"I really think I cannot help you."

"Please Kadar, I just want to ask your bother what happened in that bureau."

The pair spoke over each other. Both heard a whistling noise and looked about to find the source. A heavy object, clad in black, fell towards them - dropped from the tower above. It made a sickening crunching sound as it met the ground at their feet, spraying their ankles with blood. Kadar fell to the ground, his hand flying to his mouth in shock. Lying broken and mangled at his feet was his brother Malik, whom he had just seen moments earlier. His eyes were glassy and reflective, still gazing skywards. Kadar watched as blood began to fill the whites of his eyes, watched as more blood drained from his broken skull. His rafiq robe was twisted about him and his master belt was glistening from the ruby liquid. Hamal's mouth dropped open in shock. As well as Malik's ruined body, a pale white assassin clung to the dead dai. Its hands were wrapped around Malik from behind and its hood was keeping its face covered, save for the long black hair that draped out and fell about them both. Birds flew off startled into the night as Kadar's piercing scream filled the air.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 3:

Rauf rose early in the morning, when the first sun rays where just beginning to climb over the mountain peaks and illuminate the skies. He stretched, hearing the familiar cricks of his shoulder blades cracking from the long hours he spent demonstrating to the young novices how to properly wield a sword. His eyes were still sore and dry from the news of his good friend's death but it had been some time. The news was no longer considered recent anymore.

Though there had been quite the disagreement yesterday after training. Rauf began pulling on his boots as he recalled it, wondering if he had agreed to something perhaps he should not have. On top of his daily garb, Rauf pulled on his worn travelling cloak that had seen better days. He fastened it about his neck and made sure it disguised his sword quite nicely before strutting out of the building into the new dawning. He was greeted by two novices, their outfits identical to each other.

"Well, are you going to take us today?"

"Because you promised."

They chorused at him the moment he had let himself out.

"How long have you been waiting here?" he replied casually.

"Oh, you know...just a bit." They responded.

"Shall we then?" he held his hand out and started to lead them down the sloping hill, towards the stables and the road to Kingdom.

"Are you serious?"

"You mean it?" they both questioned.

"I promised, had I not?" He responded.

Rauf sighed and led the way. He felt guilty for taking the day away from the novices and vaguely wondered if his replacement would be able to teach them anything. Still, he had only agreed because he felt he owed his friend some dignity, at least for the way he had been so savagely murdered. The story had gotten around the creed quite quickly, but the story was not one received with empathy. Nobody felt for his dear companion the way he had, at least no one but the rafiq Malik Al-Sayf.

Rauf felt his footing slip just as the trio passed under the great gate to the assassin fortress. Stopping, Rauf bent to touch his fingers to the bottom of his boot, staring curiously at the blood on them when he pulled them away. He glanced around and noticed how the ground had soaked much of it, quite a bit of it to be a small animal. Seeing a few older assassins off to the side, he approached them to ask what had happened without the company of the novices.

"Safety and peace brothers."

"As to you Rauf. Where are you and the little ones off to, on such a sorrow day?"

"Why is the day sorrowful? I mean to take them to Kingdom, just to show them a few new landscapes and perhaps see if I can test their skills in an open field, should we find one unwatched."

"Good news. Are you grading them on that? Perhaps they should upgrade soon?" one of the younger men muttered.

"The day is sorrowful indeed. The dai passed away, sometime in the night." an elder informed him. He leaned heavily on his staff as he spoke. "Right about there, where you halted." He nodded towards the pooled blood.

"What? When was this? How?" Rauf felt himself lost for words. First his friend, now the dai. What was happening here?

"He suffered terribly dreams, Rauf. He awoke with a start, terrible thing too. He had just been visited by his youngster, Kadar - Yes, he is back from Asia. He gave the guards quite a fright so they put him down for the night when about not ten minutes later, he escaped their care and ran down the course-way." The elder used his staff to point towards the great fortress wall as he spoke, his shawls shifting as he moved.

"Anyways, he ran along the wall and it became unclear what happened. Somehow, he fell to his death from the wall."

"Or he was pushed."

"Or pulled."

All eyes turned to see who last spoke.

"Well, I am not saying it for sure, and I am not believing it. But chances are better to be safe than sorry. What if-"

"Oh, spit it out boy." One slapped his back.

"Well, you heard what happened in the Jerusalem bureau. What if...well, what if his crazy talk was not as crazy as it sounded. He was a dai after all."

"Oh, come off it boy. You know what you are implying?"

"Indeed." Rauf spoke. "I best be on my way. I am ever so sorry to hear this news. I must give my condolences to the brother."

"Indeed you should. He saw it I heard. Was at the foot of the gate when his brother...his brother..."

Rauf and the group bade a moment of silence before parting ways. The two novices looked at his curiously but he waved his head and hand and pressed forwards, taking care to make sure they avoided the blood.

The road was long and silent to Jerusalem. Rauf would not permit them to ride fast in occupied areas, insisting that they do as little to attract attention as possible.

"We cannot attract attention to our guild, especially with no masters left." he reminded them.

"We have no masters anymore? What of Al-Sayf?" One piped up.

"He is ill." Rauf would not tell the news until after they returned and it became unavoidable. He kept his eyes on the road ahead and bit his tongue to stop the tears from gathering. There would be no sense in breaking down in front of his students and allowing them to see and share in his grief - especially when they had not the connection he had with his passed friends. Would he be the last one left? he caught himself wondering.

Sneaking the two novices into the great city of Jerusalem was a feat easier said than done. It took no problem for himself to double as a scholar and enter the city unchecked, but with the others in tow, Rauf found it slightly more difficult than he expected. He halted the two novices.

"There has to be another way in. Not all of us can join the scholars."

"You can go in and find us a different entrance, Rauf?"

"It might not be that simple. And if I left you and you were sighted?"

"That's true." The second novice spoke. "We could not fight off the guards without causing a scene."

"How about we wait until we can hide inside a cart or something?"

Rauf smiled at the novices. His melee skills might not have been teaching them something, but they were indeed learning much from their stealth instructing.

"Let's backtrack. Maybe we can find something."

They scurried back up the hill and Rauf noticed an aged man leading an equally old horse. The horse protested as the man coaxed it to keep moving, in the direction of the city gates.

"We have little time. Quick!" Rauf motioned for the novices to rush.

"How could you have dropped that?" He yelled at one novice, who seemed suddenly confused. He was leading the two directly passed the old man at a quick trot.

"But mentor-"

"I did not realize it was gone until now!" The second novice covered.

"Quickly! We must find it!" Racing right passed the cart, the old man politely smiled and moved out of their way. He kept his gaze straight and continued making his way towards the city.

Rauf stopped the pair before they ran too far back. "We could not have given the man any reason to be suspicious of us. If he detected us going back for any unknown reason, he might have pulled the alarm. We can not risk being caught."

"I understand mentor." the second one squeaked.

"As do I."

"Good. Let us go."

The three scurried behind the cart, the mentor grabbing hold and tossing the youngest into the back of the cart. The horse neighed and moaned at the sudden lurch of weight. Rauf and the other turned quickly and feigned searching the ground. The old man took no notice. After a moment Rauf launched himself into the cart, quickly reaching out and pulling the other in with him. The horse neighed once more and they heard the old man groan. It was not the way Rauf knew a master would handle the situation, (they would definitely remain out of the cart until all novices were aboard), but it was the quickest way to remain undetected.

The group counted the seconds silently. The ride was bumpy and the cart smelled heavily of hay and other unpleasant things. Rauf wrinkled his nose in disgust. This certainly wasn't one of his ingenious plans but yet again, he was just a fencing instructor. His ingenious masterpieces tended to happen on the battlefield.

The cart lurched to a stop and the horse whined. After a small, muffed collaboration, the old man was allowed through.

"We've passed into the city. Wait a moment, we must sneak out where they are none watching."

Rauf spoke to the darkness beside him but he made out the outlines of two hoods nodding. It was good that they took to being quiet; quick learners, eager.

"Stay in the area that I toss you out at, I'll find you there." Rauf poked the first novice out of the cart, making sure to scan the area for any guards or rats that would report them. He then tossed the second a few minutes away. Sneaking out himself was rather difficult; He was bigger than the others, and the weight shifting alerted the horse.

"What is with you?" he heard the old man saying.

"God be with me."

Rauf jumped from the cart, ducking behind an alleyway. The noises in the bustling streets stayed the same, no one yelled in alert and the cart trudged on.

"Thanks be to God." Rauf whispered, and turned to face the direction the cart had come from. Dodging out from behind the building, he made his way throughout the busy, crowded streets to find both the novices. Luckily for him, they had met up beforehand.

"Where to now?" one asked.

"Well, you wanted to see it. And you talked me into it. We might as well."

Rauf led the two novices through the streets. To avoid losing them, or drawing unwanted attention, the trio made their way around with their hands placed in prayer in front of them and their heads bowed. Before long, the company halted outside of a dark, stone building. It wasn't that the building was in the shade, it was that this still coldness seemed to emanate from the building itself.

Rauf heard the novices gasp. One drew in breath sharply. They climbed to the top in unison, taking care to keep their shadows from cascading down the walls. Ivy had grown around the mesh of the roof but the entrance was still decipherable.

"They say, this is the most haunted bureau in all of the creed."

"Yeah, and that whoever goes inside it gets the curse."

Rauf turned to see the two novices whispering. He couldn't find words to tell them that it was all superstition and old wives tales. Not with what happened to Malik. "I've got to go in there." he found himself saying.

"They say, if you go in the attic and count to ten, you'll see _him._" The second novice spoke as he pushed back the grate for the entrance.

"You really think I'm going to fall for such a tale? I'm going to honor my friend's memory."

The novices began to move, stepping forwards. The elder one walked right up to Rauf and began speaking as he circled around him hauntingly. "He killed him, snapped his neck." He paused to grab the back of Rauf's neck as he spoke.

"This is not a matter-"

"He was so insane," the second murmured, "he even killed the rafiq of this bureau."

"And when he was done, he wrapped him in burial robes and stuffed him in the attic."

Rauf's bottom lip quivered slightly. He did not want to think of his friend being treated in such a way. It was nauseating. Why wouldn't he fight back? What was the cause of him losing his life? He should have never been in such a situation in the first place!

The novices could see they've gotten under his skin. Rauf stared at the entrance for some time before turning his gaze up towards them. "You cannot come here and not pay respect. You must enter and pray."

"What?"

This was obviously not part of the novices' plan. They hesitated and cowered slightly under Rauf's gaze. His eyes, though fierce, were moist with tears and his teeth were locked in a grimace behind his lips. In such a torn situation, the novices could not help but pity their beloved instructor.

"Come."

The trio descending into the bureau, taking care to tread on light ground. Rauf led the way, leading them towards the resting place to pray. All was as it should be if the bureau was under regular leadership, save for some of the furniture being upturned and the heavy darkness that impaired much of their vison. The ivy that had overgrown cast the entire bureau into darkness and only small rays of sunlight made it through. The fountain was still, though full of water, and several small leaves and clumps of dried vegetation floated on the surface. The novices stood close to each other, shoulder to shoulder, and kept as far from the door as they could. It was obvious they were scared of being inside the bureau.

"Wait here."

"Where are you going?"

"To see if I can find anything of his to give him a proper burial."

"Rauf, no." the youngest begged, fearing being separated from their mentor.

The eldest grabbed his wrist and held him by his side, simply nodding to his mentor once. "Perhaps he just wanted to be heard." he whispered to his mentor, who stood with lips pressed firmly together in a thin line.

"Indeed." he replied and nodded curtly.

Rauf bowed his head and pushed open the small wooden door that served as a divider between the open space and the rafiq's home. It slid along the wall easily, getting slightly stuck before it fully opened. Rauf turned and looked up at the tracks. In the darkness he couldn't make out the rails for the door but he could see something reflective and somewhat stringy. Reaching up, Rauf wrapped his fingers into it and pulled, yanking down a handful of fine, black hair.

Tossing the hair on the floor, Rauf made an effort not to scream. He couldn't give the novices any reason to fear their surroundings. But he knew that hair. And he felt the atmosphere in the bureau change. He turned away from the door to see if he could find a candle to light his way throughout the rest of his search. There had to be something he could do to try and help his beloved friend find some peace.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 4:

The two novices gazed around the darkened bureau. It was the first time for both of them to be inside of an assassins den outside of the Masyaf guild. Turning their gaze from around the room to meet each other's eyes, they shyly smiled.

"How scary it would be to be here all alone." The youngest spoke.

"Whatever do you mean by that?" the statement spiked the elder's interest.

"Well, I'm chilled being here with you. As an older assassin, it must be quite lonely coming back here and having the space to yourself."

"Well, I assume that most assassins get used to being alone. And the rafiq would be here. I do not think it would get so lonely."

"That's true."

The pair fell into a small silence and the elder dropped to his knees. "We should pray as Rauf has asked us to."

The younger one nodded, his lips pressed tightly together as his mentor's. He gazed up and around the ceiling, trying to find places where the light managed to break through. Something in here just didn't feel right.

A low, rhythmic sound echoed above their heads. It sounded slow and dull at first, a soft thud-thud-thud against the walls. Looking upwards in shock, neither novice could find the source above them.

"What do you think-"

The younger's words fell silent as they heard it. The infamous choking gurgle that was the heart of the rumors. The rhythmic drag was back and both novices could envision a body dragging itself towards the attic door in the rafiq's room; bloody and moaning.

Something made a small splash in the fountain, just enough to catch their attention and ripple the surface of the once-still water. A small cry was heard from below it and black hair rose out of the murky water. On the other side of the wall, both novices heard their beloved instructor scream.

Rauf paused in his search. He had managed to locate an offering of incent sticks and lit them, creating a steamy mist and a small glow. It wasn't much help, and the scent was getting to his head, but it helped illuminate the room some. Continuing his search, Rauf entered behind the counter and began poking around. He was lucky upon his first search and found a small leftover candle that had seen better days. He lit it off the steam and heat of the incents and began to look around. There was not much out of order, everything seemed to be in its respective places. Books, maps, and other instruments were orderly aligned in their shelves behind him and the counter was clean. Sighing, he knew he wouldn't be able to leave if he didn't investigate what the novices were telling him earlier. Pushing himself onto the counter, Rauf stood up and felt above his head for the attic boards. This probably wasn't the way the rafiqeen got to their attics but he wasn't about to waste time searching for the door - he was a fencing instructor, not some goddamn scholar.

Pulling himself up, he took care not to knock over the candle. It seemed oddly empty up here though, and vacated. Unlike the rest of the bureau, this space seemed to buzz with energy. Rauf turned, his feet dangling over the edge of the structure that served as a storage space. He peered about him, as much as he could in the darkness, and placed his hands on either side of him, gripping the edge.

"I'm so sorry-" he began to mumble.

That's when he heard it. A small rhythmic sound. There was a small scratch, like fingernails grazing wood, followed by a small shuffle of something heavy being dragged. It was coming from the opposite corner from himself. Rauf's attention seemed to heighten. All his focus from his fight training grew all his senses. He gazed at the corner, almost daring something t emerge with his eyes. He pulled the candle and held it under his face, trying to see more clearly.

The shuffling stopped for a brief moment, only to return in time with a rasping, choking gurgle. The choking was broken, not fully being one sound but breaking into many different groans. Black hair laced its way around Rauf's fingers and tangled them, causing him to turn his gaze downwards. There, under his hand, was a small, dirty journal. Pulling his hand away in fear, the journal flipped itself open. The pages flipped as if a heavy wind was blowing them by and stopped on a page with a hole ripped out of it, the edges folded back so no paper was disconnected.

A wet brown eye was staring out of the pages of the book. A wet brown eye outlined in smudged black coal and set in a face of blue-tinted skin. It wasn't blinking and it's black eyelashes poked out of the hole of the pages, casting an eerie border. Rauf pushed himself away from the book, away from the corner and looked up only to come face to face with the pair of eyes that the book just showed him. Clad in white stained red with blood, the pair of eyes begged silently from behind a pointed white hood. Black hair hung out from the hood, pulled and disheveled. The struggling choking sound was deafening and Rauf released a scream, gazing into the soulless eyes of his former friend's vengeful ghost.

Upon hearing their mentor's screams, the two novices fled from the bureau with screams of their own. Chasing each other, they raced to the wall and pulled hurled themselves at it, struggling as they rushed to escape. Both feared the gate closing, the hatch keeping them in. Their fear propelled them forwards and they both dove through the exit at the same time, pushing the other before them. Though the opening used to be wide, the overgrown vegetation scuffed their robes and tore their sleeves. The novices did not continue until they were safely across the rooftop, gazing at the darkened building in the sunlight on the roof opposite the street.

Rauf dropped from the attic ledge and landed heavy on the balls of his feet. He paused for a moment to let the impact sink in and loosen his muscles before turning and running out of the rafiq's room, the sensation causing the candle to blow out. Behind him, the moaning continued in the darkness and Rauf raced just as the novices did to escape the haunted bureau.

Panic settled in over the instructor as he emerged from the bureau. He realized he had not seen his apprentices in the space for the assassins. They were not where he left them, yet he heard them screaming. He gazed quickly about the city only to discover them waving to him from across the street. He quickly leaped over towards them, careful to avoid unwanted eyes.

"Are you alright?" he addressed them both.

Both novices were shaking and looked pale. The younger one's lip was quivering and tears had formed in his eyes.

"Can we get out of here?" the elder one asked.

"Let us delay no longer." Rauf spoke clear. He knew he had to remain strong for the novices. He had to get them home. "Let us put this place behind us."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 5:

Memories was all he had left after he journeyed so far. The months away from home, the weeks on the boat, none of that mattered now. Malik was gone.

Every time Kadar closed his eyes, Malik's broken body was all he could see. So empty. So lifeless. It brought fresh tears to his eyes and he had to close them to release them, starting the cycle all over again. He had not the heart to go to Malik's room, nor the mindset to clean it out. He couldn't even find himself the strength to share his input in the funeral arrangements. Much of the guild was grieving over the loss of Malik, though Kadar was unsure as to why. Had Malik grown popular after he left? The Al-Sayf brothers were often left to their own when he last called this place home. Kadar found himself wondering if he would be returning to Asia soon, considering he would not have to care for Malik in a sickening sense of irony. Then again, he still had no answers to why Malik had passed in the first place.

Kadar opened his eyes and looked around the room he was in. He picked himself off the floor and stretched his back. It was cramped and aching after he had spent the night and much of the morning crying against the door. He must've fallen asleep eventually, but he could recall nothing of drifting off. The room was illuminated now. Rays of light drifted into the room and washed everything in a golden haze. Kadar could almost envision his brother rushing into the room to pick up something he'd forgotten, or perhaps with a bag of ink and new quills from the market. Perhaps he'd be guiding in some new novice for some fun.

Kadar shook the thought from his head. Malik wouldn't do something that trivial after he gave his life for the creed. After he gave himself to Malik. He picked himself up. Although bright, the room was a mess. Malik's clothing, though minimal, was hung over several pieces of furniture; off hooks and slung over the ends of tables and counters. His desk was still as messy as Kadar could recall from their childhood. Often he would joke that only Malik knew the map to his desk. He smiled but it did not reach his crystal eyes. Wondering towards the desk, Kadar let his hand run over the knotted wood, finely straightened - once. There were many deep scratches along the surface where Malik had dug the quill too deep, or a blade was dropped or tested. He traced the pattern of veins left behind, watching as they all somehow collided in the center of the desk to form a little map of their own. A few quills poked out from under all the layers of scrolls and as Kadar gazed at it in its entirety, the papers seems to convey a message to him.

One particular map caught his eye. Gazing down, Kadar found bright red ink sprawled upon one. Picking the delicate paper up, he realized the splotch of red was not of ink but blood, and Malik had taken his quill to run a circle through the blood to surround the Jerusalem bureau in crimson. But why? Kadar began shifting through the papers, growing more and more intrigued by all he found. It seemed he had been keeping letters between himself and the Master Assassin Altair Ibn La Ahad. As well, several pressed flowers and foreign trinkets were left scattered. But what would Altair have anything to do with the Jerusalem bureau? And what was it about that bureau that had caused Malik to circle it?

Kadar gave up, setting the papers down and looking about for a place he could boil some water. He wanted some tea and some time to calm himself. His loss of Malik was not yet controlled. He picked up Malik's stray coat and threw it about his shoulders. Despite the growing heat, Kadar felt cold and it gave him some security in having Malik close to him. A knock at the door caused him to jump and he hesitated before rushing to answer it.

"Kadar, I was just wondering how you were doing?"

Hamal stood on the other end of the door, his expression soft. They shared in a moment of awkward silence before Hamal handed over a steaming cup of tea. "Please, may I come in?"

Kadar said nothing but opened the door wider. He stepped aside and let Hamal enter before closing the door once more. For once he didn't bother with glancing up and down the hall ways for anyone who could be a potential threats.

"Kadar, I-"

"Hamal, what happened to my brother?"

The question stopped Hamal in his speech. He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Quickly, he snapped his mouth shut only to reopen it and speak nothing. A small, confused moan came out of his throat and he hastened once more to silence himself.

"Kadar, what do you know of that bureau?"

"What has this got to do with a bureau?" Kadar asked moodily. "I wanted to know about my brother."

"I understand Kadar. That's perfectly natural. But I'm concern if you would understand not."

"Understand what? Why has Malik obsessed with that bureau? Why is he tracking Altair's linage?"

Hamal turned to stare at him, his cold gaze locking to Kadar's. "Malik went to that bureau Kadar. He was sent by Al-Mualim to check things out when things began to go ...strangely there."

"Strangely?" Kadar questioned.

"There was an accident. Disturbances began being reported from that bureau. Rumors spread. Unholy rumors that spoke of demons and darkness, of murder. Malik felt it was his duty as dai to cleanse the unholy. But his return to Masyaf was not at all the one we expected. He was brought back by four assassins who carried him to the mentor. He was screaming and badly injured. Somehow, there was a fire."

"A fire?"

"Yes. Some say Malik had even started the fire. Though it is quite unclear. He spoke of the master and fear of that bureau spread. More people believe the rumors."

"What rumors Hamal?" The question burst forth from Kadar's lips as soon as he thought it.

"Kadar, Malik involved himself in what should not have been his concern. I have to go back to that bureau if I am to find out my answers. I can see you have no information that can assist me."

"No, I shall go with you then."

Both stood at the same time and Kadar set his mouth into a defined line. He would not be talked out of his decision, no matter the foolishness.

"Kadar," Hamal began.

"I will not stay on the side while my brother passed away because of this. I want to know what happened to him."

Grudgingly, Hamal turned and left without a word, allowing Kadar to follow at a small distance behind him.

It was at the city gates that the pair stopped. Hamal squinted to focus his gaze upon the three silhouettes racing towards them. "Why, that's Rauf and some novices. Whatever were they doing out so far?"

He stepped forwards to greet them but his voice failed him as he took in the looks of horror they all wore.

"Rauf, what has happened?"

"Rafiq! Do not say you are going to that bureau!" Rauf whispered urgently to him, attempting to catch his breath. The fencing master stopped and pressed his hands against his knees to catch his breath. He spoke with his eyes to the ground.

"What ever happened?" Hamal insisted, placing a hand on the bigger man's shoulder.

"I beg you. Do not go. The rumors are true. The rumors are true! Something is not at rest there."

Kadar stepped forward slightly. They were all speaking of the same thing Malik had but the answer was not within reach for him. The more he discovered, the more questions he aroused. Altair would probably know what to do in a situation like this. Or Li. Rauf and Hamal were exchanging short, urgent whispers and the trio fled back up the hill before Kadar had a chance to focus on the last of the conversation.

"Kadar, it is best if you do not come."

"You do not seem to understand Hamal. I must come. I need to know why my brother is dead."

Hamal scowled. "Fine." he uttered. "But you will do as I say, understand?"

Kadar nodded curtly, setting his jaw. He would find the answers to his questions or he would die trying.

Kadar's foreign guise helped them share a common cover. While travelling though Kingdom, the pair was mainly left alone and given a wide berth in which they could converse privately. Hamal knew it wouldn't last in the city, but in the free lands, it was better than nothing. Kadar felt slightly homesick for his companions in Asia and he shook his head sadly. Somehow he found the death of his brother his fault; if he had not left home, perhaps he could have intervened. Hamal speaking his name made his turn his attention back to the outside world.

"What is it Hamal?"

"I was just wondering if you are well?"

"I just lost my brother, rafiq. How do you think I am?"

Hamal nodded once and let Kadar be. He would handle with his own grief, there was no sympathy that could ease his pain of passing. The wind played lightly about them, grazing their faces and tossing their robes behind them. Their horses made soft, content noises and strutted forwards at a leisurely pace. The sound of their hoofs was quiet upon the undisturbed ground.

"Hamal?"

"Yes, Kadar?"

"What happened there? At the bureau?"

Hamal turned and face forwards, taking a deep breath. He did not want to be the one to tell Kadar of what happened. He himself did not even fully understand it.

"I know you know. Please. I need to know."

Hamal nodded once more and kept his gaze ahead. He opened his mouth, paused and then closed it, reconsidering. "Kadar, I do not fully understand what has happened there myself. I can only tell you rumors."

"I'm from a foreign guild now Hamal. I think rumors are all I'll get from here." The ghost of a smile flitted across Kadar's cheeks and Hamal's heart warmed. He could remember the man before him as a youngster, rushing about in robes too big for him and dragging weapons too heavy. The child that everyone chided for being overly eager now stood before him as a man of exceptional strength and honor. And yet he could still manage to bring a loose smile to his lips for a friend even after his dear brother was lost. The Al-Sayfs, for as far back as Hamal could remember, were never the popular sort and more often than not, stuck to themselves. Without Malik as his shadow, life would become quite different for both Kadar and the guild.

"Are you going to go back Kadar? Back east?"

The question stumped Kadar and now he averted his gaze. His hair blew lightly in the breeze, adding to the chaos it already was. "I planned to, when I first was heading over. But now,"

Kadar fell into silence and turned his face away. Hamal understood immediately and turned his gaze too. Kadar needed a moment of privacy before he continued.

"Now, I think I am going to stay if I can. Unless I am sent back. I would very much like to see my friends again, but I think that my part in Asia is done." He spoke with authority and straightened up. "I want to be near my brother."

Hamal nodded once and cleared his throat. There was nothing to be said, it was a family matter. Kadar's crystal eyes narrowed and became icy. "Now what about my question. What happened there, Hamal?"

"I do not know the full tale. But here is what I do know.

A master assassin and a strong ally was sent to that bureau to liberate the city. The rafiq set them on their way and they did as they were asked. All was normal, as is the way of our creed. That is until they were resting that night from their task. The master was in prayer, as was his ritual. He was lighting incents in the rafiq's room while the rafiq was fussing about in the storage. The master had this book or journal, a codex of some sort, in which he recorded much of his memories and his strategies. While he was praying and offering his sacrifices in smoke, the ally found this novel.  
I do not yet know what the ally saw in there that upset him. But whatever it was must have been really upsetting for him to react the way he did. In a fit of rage, he killed the master assassin, broke his neck. Then he drowned the rafiq.  
He came back to the guild but spoke naught of what occurred. And he did not stay long. We found him bloody and lifeless by morning, with his neck slit open. That's when the rumors began. At first, everyone said he was just a victim of some assassination. But then disturbances from that bureau began happening. And people who went there, simply would not return. The mentor tried to shush the rumors, but you know how superstitious people are. And that is how Malik got involved - he was tasked to cleanse the bureau and hopefully discover whatever happened to the master assassin who never returned."

"The master assassin..." Kadar trailed off. Fresh tears sprang in his eyes and Hamal instantly regretted telling him. He knew how Kadar had idolized Altair, even after all these years.

"Yes." He muttered dryly.

The pair fell into a moment of silence and continued on their way. Kadar looked up just as they came to the peak of the hill overlooking the magnificent city of Jerusalem.

"Hamal?" He asked shyly, his voice barely audible above the light wind.

"Yes Kadar?"

"When we were back in Masyaf, you said that you had to "go back" to the bureau."

"Kadar, I was one of the informers sent to get information. I am a rafiq and the last one there was killed. If anyone, I should know my way around a bureau."

"So now, you are racing the clock too?"

Hamal didn't answer him. He simply guided his horse towards the great city.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 6:

"What happened?"

"Is it true?"

"Did you really get to go?"

All the two novices could do was nod. Still shaking from their experience at the bureau, neither assassin could find their voice. It was late, much later than they usually were allowed in the training ring - but it wasn't like Rauf was teaching today. He was resting from his journey, one in which he mainly lied to the other assassins about.

"Did you really see..."

The question hung unfinished in the air. All the novices put their heads down and the two simply nodded. Most of the youngest ones gasped and one of the eldest called out.

"It's just as you predicted in the stars!" The young novice spoke. He pulled away from staying so close to his companion and looked up at a maturing assassin. "Just as you said."

A wind blew and all the novices immediately looked up. The stars were just beginning to come out, small pinacles of light in the far distance.

"What are all you still doing out? You should be inside. Hurry, hurry!"

The voice was of their scholar who taught them in letters. The novices immediately began to rush to their quarters. Amidst the chaos, the elder of the adventurous pair grabbed the younger's arm.

"Hey!" He whispered. "Let us meet tonight, under the stars in the library, alright? Be on time!"

The younger one nodded once, trying not to gain attention. Something was weird back in Masyaf, something that both could not understand on their own.

"I shall be there when the moon reaches its peak." The novice whispered back, before turning and following the rest to bed.

Once in the common room, all the novices pooled together on the floor. They kept a small candle lit in the midst of their circle and several drew back their hoods.

"What do you think happened there?"

"Do you think the rumors are true?"

In hush whispers, they began conversing over what the other novices had said. Although it was little to go on, the conversations grew into large debates. Only one assassin sat amongst their group, quiet and still.

"What do You think?" one of the braver ones asked him.

He turned his face away from his star-gazing and looked at them all with blank eyes. "I think it has to do with the Al-Sayf brothers. Did you hear, the young one is back. And I saw the mentor having the eldest's room in the infermary cleared out today. I wonder what occured."

This new information cast all the conversations into silence. But just as their questions started to form, a desperate choking was heard, as if one had lost their voice but was insisting to speak anyways. The young assassin leapt up and raced to his own pile of pillows, diving under them and pulling the covers over himself. Pressing himself into the pillows, he muffled his horrified scream and listened as his companions all screamed on their own. He didn't want to see it but he could imagine the pale white figure that Rauf spoke of seeing, attempting to support its frame with its broken bones. He could almost feel as though its cold hands were on him, running across his throat and grabbing his chest.

But...Rauf never told him how the figure felt. Fear shook the young assassin to his very core. The moon would be at its peak soon and he knew in his heart he wouldn't make it on time. The choking was right above him now, loud and unforgiving. He forced himself to open his eyes and found the figure atop him, its nine fingers curled adorably around the cross-belt for his scabbard. Warm brown eyes gazed into his, surrounded in black coal. Pale white lips were stretched open as it struggle to speak and long black hair fell out from its white hood, wrapping the novice in tangles. The assassin opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. The ground suddenly was no longer was beneath him and everywhere, all he could hear, was the bone-chilling choking noise.

The moon reached its peak and over some and the elder novice tapped his foot. He didn't like to be kept waiting, especially when he had to wait alone in the darkness. Everything seemed to distort in the darkness, and with distortion came unnatural things. The candle he held close flickered in a small wind, one as if someone had walked past. The novice stood up, turning to seek where the young one was.

"Finally got here?" He questioned, but he spoke to only air. "What the-"

The novice turned, becoming anxious. He considered the chances of the younger one getting caught and being scolded but something about that thought just felt wrong. The darkness seemed to grow, as did the assassin's fear, and he anxiously turned around, placing the candle upon a shelf above his head. He step away from the bookshelf, stepping away from his protection should someone come by, and peered around. He saw nothing.

Just as he went to take a step back, the assassin felt something soft brush against the back of his neck. He turned and was startled to discover an amount of long black hair hanging down from the ceiling above him. The hair was gently fluttering in the still air, miming a wispy, underwater flow. The novice reached out hesitatingly with one hand, stepping closer slightly to convince himself he was dreaming. But as he did, the hair dropped and grew in length, hanging as low to the novice as the top of his boots. The novice moaned but held back a scream. As frightened as he was, he wasn't able to pull himself away. The hair began crossing itself over the novice, wrapping him in a fine web. The novice squeezed his eyes shut, praying that it would all end. His lips moved but no sound came out. Instead a loud choking was heard, just as he had heard in the bureau earlier. The sound seemed to resonate from the hair in which the young assassin was caught.

Forcing his eyes open, the novice found himself staring into a glaring pair of bloody, brown eyes. The figure's hands were wrapped about his face, caressing him with cold digits. The novice opened his mouth to scream but was choked off abruptly. He felt dizzy and scared before he fell to the blackness, leaving behind a broken, blood set of teeth.

"Wait right here."

Hamal raised his hand to emphasize his order. He clearly didn't want Kadar anywhere near the bureau in Jerusalem but that seemed unlikely to happen. He left Kadar at the entrance, brushing aside some vines to scale his way inside. The bureau was just as it had been the last time he was there; strong walls smeared black with smoke, darkness from the lack of sunlight entering, and still waters of the fountain growing stale. Poking his way around, the rafiq moved with great caution to navigate the bureau. Stepping over pillows and easing his footing onto places that seemed weak, he cleared the assassin domain and turned his attention to the heart of the rumors. Sliding open the bureau door with ease, Hamal stepped gradually towards the all-too-familiar counter. He decided he would have to dig a little further than when he first came to unravel the mystery that was causing his brotherhood to shatter.

The bookshelf seemed to have collapsed on the formal entrance to the attic. Hamal sighed and hoisted the lowest of his robes up he could pull himself atop the counter. Reaching up to the space above, his fingers touched something cold and crisp and he pulled himself higher for a better look. Under his hand rested a book, not very big in size nor very full. What caught Hamal's attention was the design of one particular page. A hole had been ripped into it, creating a space between the center of the page. Behind it, seen through it, was the drawing of an eyeball staring out from the pages. A noise in the assassin space made Hamal jump and without thinking, he snatched the book before departing.

Kadar was waiting on the rooftop just as Hamal had asked. He had planned to sneak into the bureau on the journey over but upon hearing the story and seeing how disturbed Hamal was with the thought of him being inside the bureau made Kadar consider it. As he stood at the edge in his moment of deliberation, a small wind blew past. Light sand blew over the toe of his boot and his sapphire eyes watched as the golden sprinkles flew by. He was just descending off of the rooftop when a cold, pale hand extended from the bureau's entrance. It's grip was tight and it was missing it's ring finger. Kadar halted, afraid to move.

"Kadar, stay out of that bureau."

"Malik?" Kadar addressed the voice in confusion. The hand pulled him roughly and Kadar found himself standing in the familiar assassin space of the bureau. To his surprise, not much had changed.

Hamal came around the corner. "Kadar? I thought I told you to stay outside!"

The assassin looked up at the rafiq. "Something pulled me, I fell in."

"Let's go."

The duo made their way out of the bureau and didn't stop until they were out of the city itself. Once back on the safety of the Kingdom road, Hamal turned to face Kadar.

"Why did you enter?"

"I told you. Something pulled me and-"

"Kadar, I do not expect this foolish behavior from you."

"Hamal! I am not lying! Something really did pull me into the bureau!"

Hamal sighed and turn to gaze into Kadar's ocean eyes. His gaze lingered longer than necessary but he could read the honesty there. He turned his face away from Kadar and set his eyes on the darkening road ahead.

"Kadar, I just...I just desire that no harm would come to you."

Kadar didn't respond. Too many emotions were colliding inside his head and he didn't focus himself on Hamal's conversation. He nodded his head, uninterested.

"The night is approaching fast. How about we rest in the Damascas bureau, yes?"

Kadar turned to look at Hamal. "Hai." he responded, nodded once. His eyes were cloudy with tears from his recent yawn. Hamal noticed.

"Oh Kadar. You need to rest those eyes of ice."

The bureau in Damascas wasn't exactly hospitable. Hamal hadn't been present to maintain it during the week and he hurried to catch up to his chores. He left the roof open on their way in and lit several candles to create a cozy atmosphere, quickly wiping a rag down the shelves and counter.

"I apologize for such a mess." He mumbled towards Kadar, racing from one end of the counter to the other, trying to make up for his lost time.

"It's understandable Hamal. You are one of the rafiqeen on the go." Kadar chuckled.

Hamal just looked up and gave him a shy smile. "And you were always so understanding Kadar. It is quite clear why many admire you."

Kadar shyly smiled and accepted the compliment without words. He left the rafiq to do his work and went to finally rest on the pillows. For a moment he tried to close his eyes, but sleep would not come to him just yet. He watched, exhausted, through the doorway as Hamal tucked things back into their rightful spots. The rafiq was tired and slumped and still he pushed himself to prepare a meal for them. Kadar forced himself to his feet and moved to lean in the doorway.

"Would you like some help with anything?"

"Is it the custom in Asia to be so polite?"

"The custom is the same as here, brother. Or at least very similar. Why do you ask?"

Without waiting, Kadar began looking for some bowls that could be usable for them to eat out of. He imagined it would be easy, being in a potter's home, however he was confused as to which pots were sacred or shipments or even chamber. Hamal chuckled at his caution and pointed out the right pots.

"I am only a curious rafiq Kadar. Nothing more."

"Did you discover what you were looking for in Jerusalem?"

Kadar hid his face, pretending to be taking a special interest in the bowls. He didn't want to see the expression on Hamal's face. Behind him all was silent for a moment, even the stirring of their meal stopped. He held his place until he heard a breath. Hamal exhaled and went to speak but no words came out. He looked from the food to Kadar's eyes and back again.

"Let's sit?" He asked, cautiously.

The pair took their food to the pillows and sat with their bowls on the edge of the fountain. Neither wanted to speak at first and the meal was consumed in silence. Once done, Hamal used a small jug he had made to pour some water into their bowls for drink.

"Home traditions." Kadar smiled. He had always been one for the simple and carefree lifestyle.

"Indeed." Hamal agreed. Their eyes met and they shared in a moment as they both took their first drink.

"Did you though?"

Kadar whispered the question, not wanting to push for an answer. Hamal knew what he was asking and once more went silent, it was clear he did not want to speak of it now. He sighed in submission and retrieved from his robes a small, leather-bound book. The cover was brown with a string to wrap about the book for closure.

"I found this. I've been reading it...somewhat."

Kadar stared at the book. He recalled it from somewhere before but couldn't quite place the memory. "Did it help? What is it?"

"I believe it belonged to the master Altair."

"So it is as I feared." Kadar looked downwards. "When I heard the word master, I feared it. But there was still a part of me...that hoped for something...different."

Hamal watched Kadar drop his gaze to the floor, his grey hood obscuring his face. He could hear the small pattern of tears being shed as they hit the ground but he said nothing once more; Altair was Kadar's idol since he was a young one. It would be natural for him to mourn when the life he had known was being upended before him. His reaction, however, was enough to make Hamal unsure of if he should continue. Kadar looked up suddenly.

"Go on Hamal. What is it?"

For one so young and small, Kadar's strength was endless. Just as he trained vigorously from the first rays of sun until the last, Kadar displayed a determination that nothing could deter. He may be a grown man now, with the means to support himself, but Hamal still and would always view him as the small child he had been when they first met. He would always need guidance and companionship, and Hamal was always willing to provide both for him, no matter the occasion.

Catching himself staring blankly at Kadar, the rafiq gave his head a quick shake.

"Oh, forgive me; I thought you needed a moment." He noticed the way Kadar's azure eyes flashed and quickly continued. "This is, um, I believe this is - well, was - Altair's codex. He said once to me that he was trying to bond this brotherhood by more than common goal and training. And with the several sketches and outlines of new strategies and such, I would say this was his record of his training and instructing. As well, there are several pages that detail accounts of his life - written by himself, no doubt. I would say, judging by the writing and change in language, Altair had this book for some greater part of his life."

"Oh." Kadar mumbled. He spoke in a mixture of awe and sadness, and was greatly intrigued by the artifact of his lifelong interest.

"He spoke of his father in the start, of how they'd train. He wrote much about Syria and home, describing our lands and customs. And there's quite the mentions of the Sofian linage as well. He wrote that their fathers were very close. But he states that his friendship with the Sofians was very...well, his word is "shallow." He tries to explain himself, speaking of how the Sofians took a deeper interest in him and made him feel more like something "to eat or to own."

And then there's quite the mention of your brother."

Kadar' s eyes raised slowly from the ground to the book, then to Hamal. "M-Malik?" He stammered.

"Yes, apparently...back to Abbas."

"I understand what he means about Sofian. I never was close enough to fully understand, but I know. There were times where I would see them together and Abbas would look slightly furious or stunned. And Altair...he would be sitting there calm and collect, brushing life by. I always thought it was because Abbas wanted to be better than Altair, to be faster and stronger. Altair was always strong enough to hide his thoughts, his emotions..."

"Indeed." The rafiq looked up from reading a few more pages. "Well, he goes on to talk about the death of Ahmal. Malik's name is still scattered throughout his thoughts, though his mention has nothing to do with anything. Pretty much, Altair recorded seeing Malik from afar and speaks of how Abbas lost his father trying to protect Umar. And in turn, Umar..."

Hamal's eyebrows stitched together and his face crumpled with disgust. He looked at the pages horrified and tears clouded his eyes.

"What is it?" Kadar practically begged, watching the rafiq's demeanor change.

"I-In return, Umar pledged his first daughter to Abbas. H-however, Umar has no other children and Abbas then asked for ...for Altair."

Kadar's jaw dropped in shock. Altair...was given as payment for his father's life to the Sofian's? This couldn't be the life of Altair. Kadar's head was screaming it couldn't be true but his mind was flashing with the many times he saw Altair upset and isolated. Was this the reason he would pray more than the other monks? Or perhaps...Hamal continued and Kadar's thoughts were cut off.

"Kadar, I think perhaps we should go talk to Umar."

Kadar shook his head and blinked. "Umar?"

"Altair's father. He went into exile as a result of failing to protect Ahmal, they failed their mission together. He lived just on the outskirts of Syria now; we'd have to take a ferry to get to him."

Kadar raised an eyebrow.

"I was in contact with him for a while, a few years ago when we needed all the men we could get for a mission."

Kadar simply nodding, his thoughts returning to Altair's miserable life and the secrets he had kept hidden.

"It gets worse. There's more mentions of Malik, Kadar."

"What...what has he got to do with all this?" Kadar's voice was weak and thick with confusion.

Hamal took a deep breath before speaking. "Kadar, Altair liked Malik. He seemed to be ...in love with him."

Kadar felt like he was going to scream. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around his legs. Ache spread throughout his body from his chest and he bit down onto his hand hard. He was only distantly aware that he was crying, his screaming muffled by his hands.

"Kadar? Kadar! Are you alright? What is the matter?" Hamal asked in surprise. He reached out to wrap an arm around the younger assassin but pulled away unsure. Kadar looked up, his eyes shining and bright with tears.

"When we were younger," he stammered, his breathing heavy. His voice shook as he fought to gain control. "When we were younger, Malik and me, we - we were inseparable. You must remember. I was a shadow to him. Even when he advanced, I was there."

"I know, Kadar. It is alright."

"No! No, this is something you cannot understand Hamal. There is a reason why we...why we were so attached. And it...it...I loved him. I loved him past the love of brothers Hamal!" Kadar hiccoughed and continued, " One night, one night we returned to the bureau exhausted. We had...had just completed a mission together, one I should not - should not have been on. And we went to bed."

Kadar's voice cracked, breaking. Hamal just stared at him in shock, unsure of what Kadar was admitting to him was making him feel.

"He held me against him that night. And, and for the first time in a really long time, I held him back. I honestly cannot recall who starting it, but our lips met. We brushed them softly against each other's and for the first time, I tasted my brother. And it was sweet. It was sweet and innocent and pure and clean. And I pulled him closer. I pulled him. And we...we discovered we had more than just brotherly love for each other. And I...I loved it. I loved it and in the morning, in the morning I saw Altair."

"Kadar, that is..." But Hamal couldn't find the word for what that was. He felt sick. Where he wanted to be a friend and support Kadar, he couldn't find it in his morals to support what Kadar was saying he dreamt of.

"I just, I just wish..." Kadar trailed off, laying his head against a pillow. Tears streamed across his face and hit the stone, painting it black.

Hamal wordlessly pulled the blanket over him. He brushed the hair back from Kadar's forehead and soothed the young assassin. Kadar seemed to hiccough slightly, tugging the blanket higher in his slip of consciousness. Hamal got up, picking the bowls. He banged them loudly against the counter, slamming them down. He watched in shock as the pieces clattered against the wooden surface. Quickly, the rafiq pulled away from the sharp shards and scurried to find a bucket to collect them all in. He hadn't meant to put the bowls down so forcefully.

Turning his head gently, his eyes burned with love for the young assassin sound asleep in the next room. He figured he would give him some time, perhaps his own feelings would change some? He'd clean up this mess and let Kadar rest. And then, perhaps some time when he figured out this bureau nonsense, he would tell Kadar his feelings.

He sighed in contempt and began heating the bucket, watching with precision as the broken pieces began to melt into a thick paste. Rolling up his sleeves, Hamal took the bucket with ease, tipped the contents out onto a stained tray and began to knead the paste into a lumpy clay. His muscles bunched with the exercise but Hamal was practiced in the art. He knew both the pain and the patience required to create fine sculpts with skill.

Hamal kneaded the clay some more, allowing it to clump together and form a harder cluster to work with. While he waited for it to become the right set for sculpting, he turned his attention to several maps; no doubt made by Malik long ago. He traced a path to a small ferry port off the coast close to Masyaf with his finger, succeeding in trailing clay across the parchment. Hamal sighed and stretched his back, flexing his arms. He felt his age, no longer in his prime to be running about like the assassin he once was. He silently crept to the fountain and brought a bucket of water back with him to help shape the clay.

Hamal dipped his fingers in the water and began bending the hardening clay. He made a face, not liking having to work with hardening clay. Keeping his focus on the clay, Hamal dipped his finger into the bowl of water, feeling it warmer than before. He shrugged it off and continuing molding, tugging and bending the clay into place. He dipped his fingers in the water and continued, stopping suddenly. His eyes grew wide and he pulled his fingers as far back as the stringy black hair molded into the clay allowed. It was wrapped and blended, tangled through his fingers and into the clay. Hamal uttered a low noise in disbelief. Not here, not now.

He turned, slowly moving his eyes before his face completely turned. His breathing was coming in shallow and heavy. Altair's eyes burned, starring through him, beyond the human shell. He was looking through the water, his hair swirling around casting the bucket into blackness. Slowly, Altair began lifting himself forward, his nine fingers clinging onto the side of the bucket. He kept Hamal in his gaze, his brown eyes darkened and hardened as he glared.

Without warning, Altair lurched out of the bucket, his hair dripping and tangling in the clay, now smeared across the counter. Hamal stumbled backwards, the hem of his robe getting caught under him and sending him backwards. He hit his head hard against the shelving behind him and blackness flashed in front of him. Altair crawled forwards, his croaking voice attempting to speak. Clay and ink were dripping from the counter, pooling onto the floor and staining Hamal's robe and face. Altair's body moved in unnatural positions, his neck hanging slightly crooked, cracking loudly as he moved it as he crawled. His rasping choke caused Hamal to release his bladder. Altair came closer, close enough to engulf Hamal's vision, and was quick to cut off his screaming just as it started.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 7:

Kadar woke up to a brightly lit common room. He was covered in pillows with his head resting under a curled up blanket. He smirked to himself and squinted against the light from the open rooftop, which was always something he hated about waking in the bureaus. He got up and stretched, his back cracking from lying still for so long. His limbs felt numb and throbbed gently with the fresh blood flow.

"Hamal?"

All was quiet. It didn't seem normal in the assassin's brotherhood for things to be so still. Perhaps Hamal was just being quiet to allow him rest? Or perhaps Hamal himself had gone to rest as well? Kadar yawned and listened for any signs of life. But the bureau was quiet. Aside from a small number of bird chirping in the rising sun and some early street ambiance, there was barely any noise.

"Hamal?" Kadar asked again. He rose his voice slightly and knocked on the door before sliding it ajar.

At first Kadar could see nothing, his eyes having not adjusted yet to the light. He gasped as things slowly came into perspective, first the outline of the bureau counter and then the outline of a struggle. Kadar threw the door wide open, casting a bright light into the room. Clay had hardened across the counter, stained with ink. The bucket of water had managed to stay upright but several books, clothes and scrolls had fallen and become part of the once-sticky mess. Pots had fallen and lay in scattered pieces on the floor.

"Hamal?" Kadar asked, quieter than before. As worry for his friend consumed him, Kadar forced himself to remain cautious.

Stepping into the room, Kadar's shadow towered against the wall. Much of the bureau grew more illuminated as he stepped out of the doorway and he could begin to see outlines of Malik's maps on the counter. Stepping closer, Kadar searched soulfully for his friend. The area behind the counter was dark and ominous and Kadar held his breath as he tread forwards, determined to find Hamal.

At first he saw nothing more than a foot. Kadar rushed past the counter, his voice picking up in volume as he anxiously called his friend's name.

Hamal was slumped against the shelve behind him, his eyes still open in shock. His clothing and hair was matted in hard, flaking clay. Ink and hair had plastered themselves into the clay, creating a blotchy, distorted layer to it all. Hamal's hands were covered to the elbows, as if he was a statue cracking to life.

Kadar held back a scream. He placed his hands on the counter and bent over, biting his bottom lip to keep from losing all composure. "Hamal," he whispered, over and over.

Forcing himself over, Kadar took careful steps to keep from the sharp pieces of hardened clay. He reached down and placed two fingers on Hamal's neck, checking him for final signs of life. Upon feeling nothing, Kadar pulled Hamal's body into his, giving him a final hug as he wept bitterly on his cold shoulder.

Hamal moaned into his ear. A small, low noise that swiftly turned into a sour, choking rasp. His hands stiffly reached up and around Kadar, cracking loudly as they pulled away from the hardened paste. Kadar pushed back gasping, his eyes meeting rich, warm brown of an assassin that was not Hamal. It's pale skin glowed in the shadow of its hood and long black hair hung in long, wet strands.

Kadar used the counter to pull himself to his feet. He kept himself facing the mysterious demon at all time, recognition in his eyes of water. Kadar fought off another scream as he stared at the papers and maps about the room; all of which now were covered with ink trailing down the paper in a thick, glossy coat. And out of the ink, inverted by the parchment, was the face of the brown-eyed assassin, ever so watchful. The face of the ghost of Altair.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 8:

The bright sunlight stung his eyes as he ran, reflecting off the sands below and the walls beside. Kadar squinted, keeping his hood up as he ran to fight off the glare. Some shouted at him, calling him a heretic as he raced by, but he didn't care. Fighting off tears from the wind and the shock, Kadar ran until he could run no longer, sliding to a halt and throwing himself around a corner as several guards changed shifts. He took deep breaths and forced himself to calm down; he risked being caught and injured simply because he wasn't thinking clearly.

He glanced around, forcing himself to take in every speck of sand that was blowing in the light breeze. He couldn't see any monks he could blend himself with to get out of the city, nor any carts exiting. It would be some time until the markets mayhem died quieted down and all the guards were pacing anxiously as they did every morning when the markets were opening; it was prime time to steal when all the shops were just opening their inventories.

Kadar leaned back against the wall, turning his face skywards with his lids closed. The sun made his vision red but the warmth against his face helped to calm his racing heart. Three deaths since he had returned home from Asia. Three close family that had passed on since. And because of that demon.

"I can stop him." Kadar whispered to himself. He pulled himself from the wall with a new determination to get himself back to Masyaf by midday.

He turned and began to walk down the alleyway that he turned into to avoid the guards. If he kept heading in this direction, he would stumble across another entrance to the great city of Damascus soon. Just as he was leaving the alleyway, a cold bony hand grabbed him, causing him to jump in fright.

"I mean ye no harm!" A cracking, aged voice uttered.

Kadar dropped his fight stance as soon as he took in the person before him. A aged man with many wrinkles and long, unkempt hair had grabbed him. He was missing several teeth and was clothed only with a small amount of material to keep himself private. His stomach and chest was bare and worn by the weather. A few other men similar to him were hiding in the corners of the alley, all moaning and asking for attention by several other passerby's.

"I have no money, sir. And no food. I am merely making my way back to the monastery." Kadar decided to keep to the disguise of a monk, one shared by Altair with vows of poverty, obedience and chaste.

"I do not seek to trouble you with aid, master monk." the man bowed to him. "I just wish to inform you of the man seeking your attention behind you, midway back there." and he pointed out down the mouth of the alley.

Kadar's gaze followed his finger, which was bent and chewed, to glance at the man following him. A man wearing tattered assassin robes turned grey and a sash of red was standing in the middle of the alley. He was dripping wet, his white hair limply hanging by his ears. Even his black coat was soaked, the water droplets falling created a circle of darkness around his feet. He was standing with his arms folded across his chest, his fingers scratching lightly at his elbows. His eyes were circled in black and bulging out of his head, his skin was pale.

Kadar inhaled deeply, trying to keep his composure. He had not seen that rafiq for years. And he was not of the Damascus bureau. Kadar turned and ran, Hamal's words echoing in his head._ "In a fit of rage, he killed the master assassin, broke his neck. Then he drowned the rafiq."_ Kadar threw himself through the gates and past the guards, ignoring their cries and their attempts at chasing him down. He raced straight for the pathway to Kingdom, ignoring the stables. Uttering an apology, Kadar unhinged a horse from a cart heading towards the city and mounted it, grabbing the reins and steering it towards home.

The ferry docks were a dull and desolate place. Even the waters here were a dull grey. Kadar held his novice attire around him, pulling it closer in the places it would reveal his skin. The same washed up grey blended him into the rocky surroundings. He waited impatiently for the man that rented the dock to find a suitable vessel for the trip. The clouds roll by, concrete and lazy, covering most of the skies in a barren neutral fog.

"I got it all ready for ya." The ferry-man called. He was an older man, with a white beard and short hair. He was weightier than others and Kadar feared for a slight moment if the small dingy he had brought would hold them both.

Without saying a word, the young assassin climbed in. He took a seat at the back and waited silently as the ferry-man got in himself, causing the boat to rock unstably. He steadied the boat by placing his meaty hands on either side of it and sniffed noisily before picking up the oars. Kadar stared out to sea, not to the waters in particular around the boat or the ones further out, but more along the line where the horizon of the sky meets that of the waters and the blue and grey in the world collide until you can no longer differentiate between sea and sky. It was a dreary day, one with not much to keep him busy. One that made him reflect upon the past. He recalled the way Hamal would smell of clay and woods, of spices and sweat as he rushed into the classes to sit beside Kadar as they apprenticed for the bureaus. He recalled Malik's glares as he pulled Kadar about the guild and streets, keeping him close, as well as his soft, topaz as he their warm lips met.

The cold wind blew and sea water sprayed, pulling Kadar back to reality. With his brother-turned-lover gone and one of his best friends from childhood, Kadar felt oddly lost. He always envisioned a life without them being something more, something bigger. He sighed and bowed his head to his clasped hands in prayer, his lip trembling. He felt he was close to tears as the realization hit him, harder than he expected; The farther he was from the people he loved, the closer he wanted to be to them.

The ferry-man stared at him, his face scrunched up in the chilly sea wind. His piercing stare unnerved Kadar, it was obvious what questions were on his mind. Kadar kept his head bowed and lowered his eyes to his interlocked fingers. He looked like a monk, and Altair always passed for prayer. Still, the ferry-man probably knew the work of the people who asked to visit Umar on the sad, solitary, exiled island.

The trip was long and silent. Kadar spent most of it with his back aching and his palms sweaty, his lips trembling with his soft prayers to ease the souls of Malik and Hamal. The boat bobbed on the waters, grey as a blade, when it finally bumped against the rickety dock that served at the island.

"Ah-well, We're here."

Without so much as glancing at the other, the pair fumbled their way unsteadily out of the rickety vessel and onto the creaking dock. The fat man pointed to a small hut in ill condition at the edge of the land. "I'll be in there when you're ready to go. Be back before dark though, or you'll have to find a place to spend the night here abouts."

Kadar simply nodded to the gruff man. He bent his head, stretched his back and began his way to the dusty trail that served as a road. Many overgrown shrubs and tangled weeds littered the pathway, catching Kadar's ankles and pulling him to the ground on occasion. Dirt smeared on his palms and face, little turning his tunic brown. He swatted at it annoyed, raising small clouds of dust to emanate from him. "Just my luck," he muttered sourly.

It was just after several hours that his hike had turned to a close. He retracted his hidden blade back in its sheath along his arm, having taken it out to hack away at the overgrown vines that threatened to keep him prisoner. It was a wonder why the rumors of Umar's death circled still, probably because no one would dare to come check him in these conditions.

Kadar stomped his feet to clear the clumps of mud from his boots and shook the hair out of his eyes. Before him was a small pathway, free from weeds, that led up to a small building in the likes of bureau. Looking upon the structure made Kadar feel strangely at ease, almost as he had when he looked upon the bureau as a child. But at the same time grief punctured the feeling and his memories with Malik flashed by so suddenly he retched from the shock. Wiping the vomit from his lips, he drew himself to height and forced his leaden feet to move. Without moving his eyes from the structure, Kadar willed himself to approach. To his surprise, a small door was nestled into the side of the building; a peculiar place to put a door - most likely because it was a perfect place to climb to the roof. Kadar supposed it was just a furthered point to remove Umar from the brotherhood.

Kadar raised his hand to knock when a small breeze arose, lightly jarring the door. It fluttered back a few inches, then closed, then hung slightly open, dancing in the breeze. Wrapping his raised hand around the door, Kadar pushed it open lightly and silently moved around the corner. At least he would have his stealth on his side in this mission.

"Umar Ibn la Ahad?" He forced the tremor out of his voice and used all his will to command his body into the assassin he had trained to be. Moving his feet forwards, Kadar ventured deeper into the house. "Master Umar?"

"Nobody calls me a Master anymore." the reply came from a darkened corner behind him.

Kadar turned, stunned to find a face so familiar. Despite inheriting many things from his mother, including his fairer tone and slim build, Altair had a striking resemblance to his father - one that very few would be aware of due to his chaste state. Even as he grew from childhood to adolesence, Altair had always been shrouded in both shadows and mystery. Standing side-by-side with his father, it would be impossible to tell the two were so closely related. But now, Kadar could see his blindness in the La Ahad family code.

"Master Umar," He stopped for breath. "I need to speak with you about your son Altair."

Umar's eyes flashed in the darkness. He took a step into the dim light, the dust moats swirling in the air. He had his hood up, aged and moth-eaten in places and his steps were those of a man cautious of his boundaries, his feet never parting space from heel to toes.

"He is dead."

There was no emotion in the man's voice, no grief or hurt. There was no connection between himself and the man they spoke of.

"Yes," Kadar whispered. "Yes he's dead. And I need to know why. I need to know why he died and I need to stop him. Stop him from coming back and-"

"He died because he was foolish. It was nothing anyone did to cause him what happened."

Kadar felt he was close to hysterics but the man before him that was once Altair's father stopped him in his tracks. "No, no we have to stop him. We have to-"

"He won't stop. He won't rest."

"My brother died trying to put him to rest. He thought if he could cleanse the bureau-"

"This is not about a bureau. You foolish novices, always thinking that the answer is so simple. Altair died for what he did. Not for where he was."

"What...what?" Kadar's eyes glistened with tears as he tried to comprehend.

"Foolish child. Abbas loved him. There was nothing more I could do to protect my son's honour."

"You caused this! You made him into what he is now and now, now I need you to help me end this!"

"I did nothing! Altair should have listened when he had the chance. Not rebel like the tyrant he was."

Kadar took a step forward, determined to reason with the man. He couldn't have been hearing what he did. Altair was not some cattle that could be sold and herded. He was an eagle; proud, strong and free. He would soar above everyone and be limitless.

Umar uttered a moan suddenly. A sound so out of place Kadar shifted into a stance of defense. Umar took a step back from him, his footing so meager he stumbled and fell backwards. Propping himself on his elbows, the former master-assassin crawled backwards, his eyes never leaving Kadar's.

A loud, broken moan started to grow in the small bureau, though Kadar seemed unaware of it. Umar blinked and raised a hand to defend his face, scared of what he'd find. Before him the young novice assassin stood in confusion at his sudden reaction. When his eyes opened, the mud streaks were red and sticky, shining lightly in the murky light. The flesh exposed was of a rotted blue and long black hair fell past the hood. Altair's arm made a loud snapping sound as he stepped forward, twisting upwards in an unnatural position. His mouth hung open in a wide cavern of pain, the sickening choking emitting loudly. He twisted himself to move, his neck bruised and scarred.

Umar fought to find his voice, to beg, to plead with his son to spare him. He tried to explain that it wasn't his fault, but his voice was lost in his own pathetic whimpering. Altair grew taller as he advance, his form cracking and his hair brushing by Umar's face. It was no longer the soft, silky strands it was in life. Now his hair had taken on a sharper feel, several strands stuck together in clumps of dried blood.

His lips at his ear now, the choking all he could hear, Umar closed his eyes ready to accept his end. To his surprise the noise stopped. His eyes flew open to find Altair perched on his chest, staring silently at him. They were no longer the rich brown they once were, no longer the warm earth of his mother's. His eyes now clouded with blood shone a pale ruby red, dripping from the irises and pooling along the bottom of the whites. He opened his cracked, scarred lips, a small moan building. Without cracking, without breaking, a soft cry filled the room that Umar recognized as his eleven-year old son's, one that would mean the nightmare returned.

Umar's own eyes softened, his own lips parted to comfort his son. A break, a rasp crack broke his son's voice and his eyes hardened into vengeful rubies. Umar hadn't the time to close his eyes, his last breath left him with a feeling he only felt twice before in his life; the feeling of failure.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 9:

Kadar stared down at Umar as he backed away. The master-assassin was obviously lost in his thoughts, perhaps a memory. It was only until the light left his eyes that Kadar realized he passed on.

"Umar?" he called in a weak whisper, taking a small step forward. When no reply came, he knew his words fell on ears deaf to this world.

Pulling his hood up, Kadar stepped forwards and lowered the lids on Umar's bronze eyes. "Requiescat in pace" he softly whispered, before standing up and turning away.

It was a long walk back to the docks. A longer walk than what it felt the first time. Kadar wondered vaguely if he took a wrong turn once or twice, deep in thought with what had occurred. How had Altair managed to find Umar when he had been nowhere near the bureau? Was it possible that speaking of him would call him from the place he was now?

It was nearly dark by the time Kadar had made it back to the docks. With much of the bushes and vines hacked away from his previous journey, the pathway was a lot less slow going and much easier to find. Still, it was not the least bit less dangerous.

A small cooking fire was just being made near the small shack. The sun was not yet set when Kadar approached, clearing his throat lightly.

"You want to make it back now, do ya?" The ferry-man asked. He had a bag next to him, perhaps with the dinner he was planning on making.

Kadar simply nodded, still lost in his silent debate on Altair and his grief for Malik.

"Please," he whispered. "I need to get off this island."

The man gave him a grudging look. "You just told me this morning you needed to get _to_ this island."He watched as Kadar's face fell, taking in the sweet image of the young monk's disappointment. "Alright, alright," he announced annoyed, after taking his own small satisfaction. "The monk's done his pilgrimage. Let's get you home to your monastery now then, eh?"

For some reason unknown to the ferry-man, the small light that seemed to emanate when the child smiled filled him with an odd satisfaction. Maybe it was because God was smiling at the pilot's selflessness, putting aside his hunger for the help of a fellow human.

The waters were still despite the moon looming so close to the horizon. Kadar held his arms tight around his chest, his lips feeling numb from the sea chill. The ferry-man rowed with his sleeves rolled back, bunched up along his thick biceps. It was still early evening when they left the island, the water lazily slapping against the hull of their vessel. The sun had indeed already sunk but the glow of it still hit the rising moon, blessing them with a slow descent. He brought the oars roughly through the water, keen on sighting land before darkness settled on them.

Sleep was falling on the weary assassin. He hadn't planned for such events to happen, the hike nor the tragedy. Death was a sight deemed normal for his guild but the death of one of their family was always one that took much out of them. In the past few days, Kadar had lost four.

A soft breeze picked up and Kadar turned his face from the wind chill. His hair lightly fluttered alongside the brim of his hood, tickling his cheeks. He smiled to himself slightly at the feeling, a rush of memories about his unruly hair causing him to experience a sudden warmth. His crystal eyes gazed for the coastline, falling softly to the waters below. They glistened under the wooden ship, which moved with the feeling of timelessness as it parted the waters to advance. A flash of white caused Kadar to turn his eyes to the side of the boat, where a vivid image shimmered on the surface.

Hand holding the edge of the boat, three fingers curled slightly, the figure was in perfect reflection as Kadar, with the difference of an amused smile on its scarred lips. Kadar gasped and moved back, watching as the inky black hair swirled under the water. Altair's features mocked his shock, pushing away from the surface of the water. He smirked once more and began fading. Kadar blinked, leaning forwards once more, holding back a cry. His eyes met only his reflection and the confused expression of the ferry-man when he pushed away from the water.

Rauf made his way swiftly up the slope. He pushed the two novices ahead of him, much like a bird would herd its young. He pulled them back to warn them, to tell them not to speak of what happened, but just as he reached out -

Rauf sat straight up in bed. His forehead was plastered with sweat and his eyes felt dry and swollen. Having gasped when waking, he had no air in his lungs to scream. His skin was lined with gooseflesh despite the heat and he heavily panted, trying to regain control of his body. The afternoon sun fell through the window illuminated the foot of his makeshift bed. Rauf tossed off the covers, pushed himself up and forced himself to move. He gathered the little amount of clothing he had tossed off and hurried to seek an end to this torment.

"And you wish me to-"

"Mentor, may I see you?"

Rashid ad-Din Sinan, better known by his title Al Mualim, ceased his conversation and looked to the stairs beside he respected post. Rauf, the fencing instructor stood awaiting, his hands fidgeting together and his face panicked.

"My child! Whatever is it?" he turned, his one good eye glimmering as he faced the skilled assassin before him. "You may go, we will talk more later."

The assassin took his leave, short like Altair but much broader built. He passed Rauf, sending a chill through his body. Rauf hurried in, standing center in front of his mentor. Al Mualim had seated himself behind the table, fixing up a drink for Rauf.

"To calm your nerves." he whispered, handing it across the desk.

Rauf was numb. He would reach out and take the cup if he could, but his arm felt plastered to his sides. The mentor simply placed the cup on the desk.

"Rauf, what is it? What has got you so uptight? You know you can tell me anything."

"It is about the two missing novices."

"You are not in trouble, Rauf. Go on," he encouraged.

"You see, we went to that Bureau. Only...there was something there when we were there. Something not right."

"Rauf, stop." Al Mualim gave him a sympathetic smile. "I've been to that bureau, Rauf. There is nothing there."

Rauf ceased his hyperventilation. "You...went there."

"Yes. I did."

"You are cursed." Rauf hiccoughed. "He got the novices. He got them both. And now, now he is coming after me."

"Rauf." the mentor seemed slightly irritated now. "I have no idea what you are talking about." When Rauf answered only with a confused stare, he clarified: "They are right here."

The two novices turned to face Rauf on either side, standing loyally beside him in their deaths as they did in life. Rauf panicked, stepping backwards. His foot caught on the edge of the step up to the table and he lost his balance, falling backwards. He pushed himself back with his elbows, his heart unable to keep pace with his ragged breathing. Al Mualim was stepping around the table towards him, his mouth hanging open, his skin tainted blue. The mentor crept forward with his left foot constantly behind the other. The room filled with an overpowering choking noise and the air grew tight. With the two novices behind Al Mualim on either side, the assassins proved a gruesome sight.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 10:

Kadar sealed his heart within the box. He knew there simply could be no other way. Having plainly address it in all, English, Arabic and Japanese, Kadar made sure it would not be able to open without leaving a drastic mark. He finished with the packaging supplies and turned to the rafiq at the bureau behind him.

"You would make sure this gets to the docks, will you not? I need to be guaranteed it is going to go to the right person."

"It will get there or I will die trying." The aged rafiq joked with a twinkle in his eyes. His full gray beard did bounced humorously as he joked.

"My deepest and sincerest thanks, master rafiq." Kadar placed a hand over his heart and bowed, the ancient one returning the motion.

"And where are you off to, young Kadar?" asked the old man, bending to place the box behind the counter on a safe shelf.

"Jerusalem." The child answered.

"Jerusalem, hm?" The man responded, the joke out of his voice now. He reached up and stroked his beard, "Strange things going on there of late."

"Whatever makes you say that, Master Jabal?"

"Just the news of late from there. Sad news. Tragic. I shall let you know it grieved me very much to learn I outlived the life of one great assassin born before my eyes."

Kadar did not have to ask of whom he spoke. The light sparking in Jabal's eyes told Kadar he was lost in a memory, one no doubt of Altair.

"If you must go Master Al-Sayf, then you must. Know this though, you are always welcome to stay in Acre, for however long you need."

Kadar sensed the meaning behind the rafiq's words were darker than they were delivered. In a timeless moment, Kadar knew that if he left Acre now, he would never return to it again.

He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry Master Jabal. But I must go."

The aged rafiq nodded once, taking a step back. Kadar turned to go then stopped himself. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I trust you with that package, rafiq. Please, I may be able to stop it, but I doubt I am enough to verse an onryo."

The wise man's brows knit together and he folded his hands before him. "My young one, what is an on-yur-oh?"

Kadar gave a small smile. "In Asia, it is believed that when someone dies in the grip of a powerful rage, a curse is born. The curse gathers in that place of death. Those who encounter it will be consumed by its fury. An onryo, Master Jabal, is a demonic ghost, formed by the spirit of unease and vengeance."

Kadar turned his head down to gaze at the floor tiles. Both he and Jabal where in their own thoughts for the moment. He gave his head a small shake, ruffling his hair and rose his gaze. "I am sorry, rafiq." he whispered and walked out into the sunlit vault of the quarters.

"Kadar," a soft voice called behind him. The old man stepped out from behind the counter and held out his arms. He took the youth between them and gave him a firm hug. Holding him at arms length, he stared deep into his rich blue eyes, looking past the body to the soul hidden beneath. "You always know when to trust your heart."

Kadar simply nodded. There was nothing more to say to the man that had once been a father to him. He taught Kadar all there was to know about their creeds intellectual runnings during the point of his training for the guild. He probably would've taught him more if he hadn't ran off to Asia so young. Of all the things Kadar had regretted the most in life, it appeared to be the one dream he had since childhood.

He hung his head, turned away and climbed out of the bureau. Jabal watched him go, a cloud passing over the sky and casting the bureau in momentary darkness. "Just like an eagle that boy, he follows Altair."

He set out at dawn and arrived by noon, the trip being one of the faster Kadar Al-Sayf had ever taken. He had switched horses halfway, not because he was being followed but because he felt bad for racing them at such speeds with no rest. His thighs ached from the saddle and his back burned with the arch he had bent in to increase his time. He pulled on the reigns and reared the horse over the fence to the stables, wasting no time in jumping off. He barely let go of the reigns as he left the horse at the water trough before stumbling into the blend of monks. Startled, they fell easily into formation, working with the assassins many times before. Getting into the city was easy enough, though for Kadar it wasn't anywhere near as fast as he would have hoped. He would gladly have raced through the entrance, but the notoriety and fight would drag out his time longer.

He had no idea why he was rushing either. His heart was pounding in his chest so badly it was giving him pain. He could feel his blood coursing through him like a river and nothing would bring his adrenaline down. Gritting his teeth, he kept his head down and his lips moving in prayer, passing the entrance guards at a snail's pace; monks were not allowed to have space between their feet, which had to be in perfect synchronization from toes to heel.

Kadar went an extra block deep into the vast city before breaking out of their circle. They moved around him without a word and went on their way, continuing around the city. The crowd was oblivious to his sudden appearance, as usual, and Kadar caught himself smirking. The landscape, the atmosphere, the mood and drone of the city, it was all so familiar to him. Such a pattern, ever repeating. His footfalls stirs small moats of dirt from the road and he forced himself to walk to the bureau, savoring the enchantments of the great city. The sun beat down on him but he didn't seem to mind, feeling caught in a timeless period in which the earth was still moving but his life was in frame-by-frame. He caught himself singing hymns as he walked, his voice low and seductive under his breath. It reminded him of Altair as he walked through the cities, perhaps this was why. It also reminded him of Malik singing, often lulling a tired Kadar to sleep as a child.

He strode on, for once without a care of the time of day or if he was late for something. He walked confidently through the crowd, not having to push through them or race by. Kadar felt, for the first time, what life without the creed would be like: without having to constantly keep your back for Templars or have expectations from others. It was peaceful, quiet and simple. And as much as it was enjoyable, Kadar knew deep in his heart it was not a life for him.

The towering structure of the bureau loomed before him. It was the middle of the afternoon when Kadar reached it, the structure seeming taller and bolder than it had before. It was still cloaked in darkness, becoming a striking black mass against the clear blue sky. Kadar tried not to showcase his interest in the building, noticing how people just seemed to naturally veer away from it.

A soft, high-pitched voice moaned on the winds. A call ever so soft that Kadar felt a slight compulsion to rush into the bureau. He stilled himself, holding himself back and caught the figure of Altair staring down at him, the image breaking in the daylight sun. He turned his gaze and continued in the crowd, parting as he got into the shadow of the building. He reached upwards and his leg followed, throwing his body upwards in a constant motion. He dropped lightly into the bureau, landing nimbly on the balls of his feet.

He rocked for a moment, in a squatted position, before rising upwards to his full height. Taking a cautious step forwards, he looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit space.

"You killed my brother." He called out, his voice rising in confidence as he spoke. "Why? You won't stop. What do you want?"

A shadow figure glided by near the fountain, close enough for Kadar to see but far enough to keep unidentified.

"I know how you feel Altair." Kadar whispered, his gaze dropping. He realized his hands were shaking at his sides and raised them to cover his face. A wind blew, a soft glow mocking sunlight filled the bureau and Kadar felt all the air go thin.

"Oh."

A soft thud beside him and Kadar turned to find Malik had dropped in by his side. He landed with his hand on the ground before him, fingers splayed, to keep his balance. It was a habit of Malik's since he first started diving in the bureaus.

"M-Malik?" Kadar whispered.

Malik did not so much as turn his head. He stood up, his long robes sweeping the floor as he rose. He took three cautious steps forwards and looked about. Kadar noticed he was carrying a vial of water clenched tightly in his hand, rather than any weapon.

Malik looked around, his footfalls silent and determined. His lips were moving but Kadar could hear no words. He assumed, from the few he read and the manner in which they were spoken, that Malik was uttering a prayer to put Altair to rest. He seemed uneasy, his eyes red and dry looking. Kadar assumed for him this would not be an easy task. He stopped to the side of the doorway leading into the rafiq's quarters and leaned around, peering in. Always so careful. He rested against the wall a moment, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. It took a moment for Kadar to realize that he was crying. Malik wiped the tears from his face and scowled, a look of sheer determination on his face. He dashed around the corner with the speed of a deer. A moment later, Kadar heard him fall.

He waited for him to reappear but Malik never did. Kadar felt a dull aching in his chest, a small throb that forced his feet forwards. He slowly made his way to the door, held onto the door frame.

The light changed overhead. It became an overcast purple. A nice evening. A tall, broad figure stood by the counter, biting his fingernails. Small clicks were heard as the nail broke and fell away, the fingers running with blood as the skin tore. A page was flipped, then another. Deep breaths, angry hisses. Kadar stopped in the doorway, realizing too late that his shadow had alerted his presence.

Abbas Sofian turned where he stood, the book falling from his hands. A skillfully drawn Malik was seen briefly, followed by his name written in a neat swirl. The pages flipped when the book landed, staying open on a page with a ripped hole in the middle of it. Kadar noticed the eye peering out, no longer a scrawled eye of ink, but rather one of the warmest brown set in a face of pale blue.

Kadar's eyes opened wide. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He turned, his first instinct to get away. He used his hand on the wall to push himself forward, hearing a noise of anger behind him. Crossing the room in three steps, Kadar flung himself at the wall, using a pot to gain height. He scrapped his fingers along the rough rock but didn't bother to flinch at the pain. It was irrelevant to the monster behind him. He raised his leg, lifted his arm, climbed. Pushed himself forwards to reach the top, reach the door.

Almost a maniacal snarling behind him forced Kadar into the wall. He had been raising his leg to jump the distance, his fingers just grazing the roof outside when he was diverted into the obstacle. His knee slammed painfully, head on into the wall. Tears sprang naturally in Kadar's eyes, but he gritted his teeth in refusal to cry out. He forced his other leg to jump, forced himself forwards, upwards.

A rough hand grabbed his belt, yanking on it hard. The force pulled Kadar from the wall but he dug in his fingers and nails, curled the toe of his boot into the rock. He would not go down without a fight.

Another hand joined the other and pulled, throwing all its weight into throwing Kadar down. Using his arms from the shoulders, Abbas bent over, tossing Kadar over his back to the ground. Kadar watched as the wall drifted away, as his hands reached out to meet air. His finger missing, his vision flashing. Hands fading into Altair's and back to his own. He heard a cry of surprise but it was not his. He hit the ground hard on his tailbone, a fiery pain instantly blazing up his back. He lay stunned for a moment, absorbed in the pain. Blackness flashed before him and if he were a weaker man, he would have fallen. But he was not.

Kadar forced himself back on his elbows, forcing himself to stand. He barely raised himself mere inches when the burning pain shot up his back once more. He cried out loudly this time, echoing the cry of pain he heard in his head. Searing pain flooded his legs and forced his arms to heaved himself backwards, back to the rafiq's quarters. He bit his bottom lip, feeling the marred scar there, tasting blood. Forcing his body to turn over, he crawled on his hands towards the fountain, feeling utterly useless. The man behind him screamed in anger, his aggression taken momentarily on the wall.

Kadar forced himself not to cry too loudly, taking the distraction as an advantage. He forced himself forwards, pushed himself to drag his body. His robes rustled softly as he pressed on, his fingertips aching with the effort. He was almost there, reaching the fountain when he felt a heavy weight land heavily on his back. Pain flashed through him, the waves making him feel nauseous. Abbas grunted, pushing all his weight down onto Kadar. The younger assassin whimpered, determined not to scream. He could sense the twisted bastard behind him smiling as he caved, his lips parting in an unwilling but wide cry of pain. His back snapped under the weight, somewhere below his shoulder blades and several ribs caved in as well. Kadar felt winded as they pressed into him, feeling like several icy daggers. He gasped in shock, his body reacting to trauma.

His vision flashed, Altair's arms reaching out, his arms reaching in the same place. He couldn't feel if the foot on his back was gone or not, he couldn't feel much of his body anymore. Kadar began to whimper, to cry. He stammered for Malik, lip and limbs trembling alike. He could hear Altair whispering the same thing.

The weakened reaction seemed to aggravate Abbas and he kicked Kadar in the side twice, his heavy foot pressing deeply into his side. Kadar gasped, then cried out. His body unable to take the abuse much longer, Kadar pulled himself forwards with his fingers, somehow forcing his foot to propel him forwards as well. Abbas howled, hitting the wall once more. He took the dagger from his belt and slammed it down into Kadar's calf.

Kadar screamed. His vision flashed red. He felt dizzy, weak. He couldn't go on. Abbas stood before him, gloating. Kadar let his sore limbs rest against the floor. Altair's arm reached out, determined still to ward Sofian off. Abbas' ankle glowed gold, a sight into Altair's sight and Kadar followed his action, throwing his arm out as well. Both assassins grabbed hold of his leg, pulling it out from under him. Abbas crashed to the ground beside them, snarling. Groaning in pain, Altair reached forwards, hauling himself to move while he had the chance. Kadar followed his lead, knowing he was suspended between life and death.

A heavy hand pulled him by his hood upwards, pulling the fabric down. Disgracing the Master. He wrapped a thick arm around Kadar's neck. Distastefully, Kadar sunk his teeth into the arm only to receive a heavy blow to the face. Kadar's vision flashed, his head throbbed and his body began to shut down. Abbas wrapped his arm around Kadar's neck, another around his head. He pushed his head further away, in the direction he had punched him. Then, viciously snarling, he cut off the assassin's scream with a sickenly audible crack.

Kadar's body gave way, landing in the likeness of a shot bird. His voice made only a rasping, choking noise as he lay there bleeding. He watched Abbas' footsteps retreat, watched as he dragged out the smaller rafiq. Their struggle was short-lived and Abbas ended his life in a few short seconds, pressing his throat as he held the screaming mentor under the water of the fountain. Kadar watched as the rafiq's hands went limp, his body slack. Watched as Abbas pulled the body from the water and smashed the head against the stone bottom. The water dyed red and sprayed the concrete around the fountain. He dumped the rafiq against the fountain, the head still submerged.

Abbas walked out of view, his footsteps fading to nothing. Kadar was sure he was gone, that the whole thing had been a dream, but he couldn't get up. He couldn't move. He still made the stiff choking noise and stared forwards, at the door.

A figure began emerging out of the darkness. His robes were a dazzling white, the cloth of burlap. There were ceremonial scriptures adorning the dressing, around the arm and along the bottom. A belt as red as blood was wrapped around his waist, with a heavy leather, three-rank belt tightly fastened. The master-assassin stepped forward with cautious, slow and precise. He moved in a perfect monk's stance, not too far, nor too fast. His brown boots came into clear view, the implicate detailing clear when he stopped in front of Kadar, bending down to look him in the eyes.

Altair threw his hood back, for the first time revealing himself to another as he had not the opportunity in life. His long black hair hung down, out of the robes where he kept it tied back for his fights. It pooled on the floor before him as he gazed unemotionally into Kadar's eyes. Kadar whimpered, his choking rattling his insides. He could feel the anger Altair felt, felt the need for vengeance.

He heard voices outside. Two youths and an adult. "They say, this is the most haunted bureau in all of the creed."

"Yeah, and that whoever goes inside it gets the curse."

A murmured exchange, a few shuffling noises.

"They say, if you go in the attic and count to ten, you'll see _him._"

"He killed him, snapped his neck."

"He was so insane, he even killed the rafiq of this bureau."

Two ghostly figures dropped in, led in by a man more fully matured. The each took several steps further into the bureau, before vanishing into the air. Kadar found himself watching from a higher vantage point, his perspective shifted. He choke out, trying to communicate with them. But they didn't hear him. The most mature of them all began to come up, to climb, and so Kadar tried to move to meet him. His broken body bent awkwardly, his words a incoherent hiss. His sudden bloodlust unquenchable.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story*, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. I do not own the original concept idea used, inspired by the story/film adaptation (both the original Japanese and the English remake), Ju:On and The Grudge. These events never happened (as in the Assassin's Creed way), according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. Ideas and references goes to the respected creators and their teams. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

*With the exception of the Original Characters that I matured and developed for this story to be written, in which I claim ownership of them, such as their names, personalities, and behavior. Several of the characters that were made for this story have been inspired by characters created by UBISOFT** in the Assassin's Creed series, however, I am not using the same character and respect goes towards both the author and company in their own creations.  
My characters created are: Hamal the Rafiq of Damascus**, Li Jun (Kadar's friend in Asia), and the secondary characters that really don't have anything to do with both Assassin's Creed or The Grudge; such as the ferry-dock man and the ship crew.

Author's Notes: One long way coming with this one. Phew, glad it's over. One of the longest I wrote in a long time. Two of my favorites things collided into one! :)# Sorry to Abbas Sofian for making him the bad guy (again) and apologies to Altair, Malik and Kadar for reasons to be discovered. Much love to the readers and please message me or leave a comment on what you think.

Oh! And by the way, I should mention, as a writer I do not typically use the third person POV. If the narration of the overall story seems muddy at times or odd, I apologize in advance.

This is Part One in a series of Two, (maaaybe Three if I stretch it). The series is titled "Ju:On - The Creed"

Part: One  
Chapters: 11  
Word Count: 22, 686

Chapter 11: Epilogue

He ran by again, taking another tumble down the stairs. He was shrieking as if the entire guild was at war with some unseen force. Ever since he lost the two novices, Rauf hadn't been the same - and it was completely clear to Swami. Rauf had taken to wearing his hood constantly, even sleeping with it on. As well, he stayed far away from all the monks and rafiqs. Swami watched them the day they returned, scared witless. But of what? What would scare a man as deadly as Rauf? He hadn't been looking out for them, but his best friend and mentor Abbas Sofian. Rumor had it that he was dead. But it wasn't like Abbas to be the cause of all problems and not come out alive. He couldn't have met his match, could he? Especially not with that annoying dai gone.

Swami kept a close watch on the fencing instructor. It was harder to do after he stopped teaching classes because he was not feeling well. It was harder after the strange death of their mentor. Swami had been hoping to bear that as a good news gift to Abbas when he returned. He would gladly help him take up the leadership of the assassins. Days passed, and no word. Swami woke every night hearing the swords mentor scream. Waked him, followed at a safe distance, as he crept down into the library at night to hide near the prayer altars. It was recent that he began rushing so fast his own two feet couldn't keep pace.

This night Swami awoke with his screams, the guild was alone. It was empty where they stayed, with most assassins gone away on missions or just not seen for days. Swami could feel the emptiness of the guild as Rauf's screams shattered the air and bounced off the walls. Angered, Swami bitterly stormed down the stairs after the man, his feelings shifting guiltily as he stared at the great instructor weeping before him.

"What did you do?" He shouted, not fully understanding why he was taking his anger out on him.

Two pale novices crawled forwards, out of the opposing bookshelves. Rauf grabbed at the railing and dragged himself up a stair or so. He whimpered but was too shocked to make much noise. Swami found himself siding with the mentor against the demons, their light skin and darkened eyes making his hair stand on end. As quickly as they appeared, they vanished, leaving their choking gurgling resonating in their ears.

"What did you bring here?" Swami found himself questioning. He pushed away from the instructor, turning to demand an answer.

"He followed me. Please, he followed me." Rauf begged. He looked around, both hearing the choking rasp.

"How did he get out?" Rauf asked, ceasing in his weeping.

They turned their heads to follow the sound, coming from the upstairs study. A pale hand reached out, dragging the body across the stairs, black hair still clinging in between the fingers. Rauf and Swami both fell off the stairs, falling back from the rails. Hitting the floor, they both hurried to see the demon wrapping a pale arm around the corner of the railing, the hand twisting backwards to face them. They blinked, stumbled in fear and it was gone.

Swami turned to face Rauf, accepting the fact that Abbas Sofian was indeed not coming back. "What did you do?" he hissed, accusingly.

A warm brown eye met Swami's, blinking swiftly. It was behind Rauf, tucked inside his hood, peering out from around him. Black hair hung down from behind the hood. Rauf let out a cry, not knowing if he should lurch forwards or fall back. Altair's pale hands reached up and out of the hood, his nine fingers covering Rauf's face. Rauf heard a small breath, his best friend and idol's soft voice caressed his ear wordlessly. Rauf watched Swami where Altair's missing finger left a gap for him to see, the young man watched on in shock. He opened his mouth, ready to scream as Altair smirked. His lips lost in the hood, he pulled Rauf back to the bureau with him, leaving nothing but his religious robes behind and white hood behind.

Swami reached out, tentatively. He stared in shock at the fallen clothing before him, unable to believe that the man inside them was gone. He patted the ground where Rauf disappeared, trying to find a switch or trip. But that wouldn't explain the clothes. He reached out and picked up the hood, held it up by the shoulders. Thin, pale hands extended out, followed by long black hair. The hood fell over his eyes, stayed upon his head, cloaking him in shadow. Altair's choking cries started. And Swami was too terrified to move.

FINIS ~  
To Be Continue...


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